Dust in the Wind
by LiveToLie
Summary: Cas is a wealthy young man with every expectation; Dean is a bad boy of which no one expects anything. In a world where they're from opposite poles, they somehow come crashing together. And it's with a desperate clinging that they try to hang on, even as the world attempts to rip them apart. Destiel. Smut-fluff-tastic.
1. Fluffy, Pink Bathrooms

**Dust in the Wind**

**Summary: **Cas is a wealthy young man with every expectation; Dean is a bad boy of which no one expects anything. In a world where they're from opposite poles, they somehow come crashing together. And it's with a desperate clinging that they try to hang on, even as the world attempts to rip them apart.

Rated M. Contains sensitive material such as homophobia, drug use, sexual content, vulgar language, and mental illness.

All characters portrayed in sexual situations are eighteen years of age or older.

**oOo**

"_Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea__  
><em>_All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see_

_Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind."_

_**Dust in the Wind – Kansas**_

**Chapter 1: Fluffy, Pink Bathrooms**

Dean Winchester had a reputation. Contraire to what Hollywood rolled out to the malleable minds of America's youth, it was actually quite difficult to acquire such a thing during high school. At least, in the red sea parting kind of sense. When Dean walked down the hall however, he held a kind of power over his fellow peers that visibly stirred the student body. Even some of the teachers, most of whom he was on good terms with despite his inclination to skip more often than he should, fell victim to his charming amicability.

Naturally, with such power came a certain degree of unrest. For every girl that fell, swooning, at his feet, there were equally others that rolled their eyes and scowled when he entered a room. Despite his social temperament, Dean didn't really go out of his way to pick fights, but some were just too petty to put up with his sunny personality. These individuals he did get a certain degree of glee out of tormenting, but only because they got the same high doing so to him. Justly, despite how his name might precede him, Dean wasn't a mean person. Quite the opposite actually. He drew people in like moths to lamps, more than happy to chill with just about anyone so long as they weren't purposefully poking at his nerves. Therefore, it was rare to ever find him alone.

Due to his affinity for social mingling, it was quite difficult to get passes to Dean's inner circle. Question anyone who'd ever sat beside him at a party and they'd say, sure, they were friends with Dean Winchester, but only a select few had found a place cushioned on his own holy, beer stained sofa. His regular posse some might call them. Like flies buzzing around everywhere he went, one of them was always nearby, whether Dean had asked them to be or not. Crowd control perhaps.

Because, as one Jo Harvelle was often saying, he was just too goddamn nice for his own good.

That didn't, of course, mean he was some kind of sap in a sweater vest letting everyone walk all over him. He had plenty of enemies, most of which had inflicted just as many bruises on him as he had them. Generally they congregated around a certain money standard that Dean simply didn't meet. Popular as he was, those living in the mansions on the east side just couldn't really handle his beat up leather jacket and torn jeans. Or, at least, a few of them. Some turned their noses up, others – those involved in more adrenaline related activities – took swings at him, but overall it wasn't anything to go calling the cops about. They had their tiffs and then they ignored each other, because, really, Dean didn't have the time to worry about stuck up rich kids any more than they wanted to think about the rebel in the Impala when they weren't standing directly in front of him.

Not all the wealthy students despised Dean for his consistent charm however. A few got along with him rather well, a mixing of social hierarchy's one might say, while those on the outsides of each circle stayed as far away as possible. Not because of a dislike of Dean, but more so because of greater interest in other things.

Castiel Novak had always been one such. He was a bit of an enigma, much like the Winchester boy. Unlike Dean, he didn't exude glorious amounts of magnetism. Rather, it was quite the opposite. Castiel, however, was no less popular for it. The hallways didn't bow down when he walked through, but that was more so because he didn't ask. Where Dean reveled in attention, Castiel took note of it. He wasn't shy, simply preoccupied. His aloof, matter-o-fact attitude was like a net for those more interested in the mysterious. Raised to be polite and obliging, he was generally easy to approach, if not a little intimidating. But he never objected to anyone new sitting at his lunch table, if they could somehow filter through the others about him, and remained civil even with those who had tried and failed to cross him. Where Dean was a lamp that willingly gestured for others to come forth, Castiel was gravity, taking in those around him despite having his back turned.

Part of this was probably due to him being a member of a great many clubs and sports – star of the swim team even. Straight A student, perfect attendance, and shining beacon for the school, he was welcomed and feared equally by the staff as he was the students. At no fault of his own really. He couldn't help it if everyone felt the need to invite him to parties, or volunteer to be his partners, or pick him first for teams. Castiel simply did what he did, everything outside his focus just "other" – other that sometimes he refused and sometimes he honored by partaking in.

He, too, for similar reasons, was difficult to really get close to. He had, really, only three close friends. And they were only such due to force. Anna, his half sister – the result of his father's affair – Gabriel, his cousin on his mother's side, and Balthazar, his neighbor whom he'd had to socialize with since before he could remember. Yet even they had difficulty getting his attention at times. Castiel was a very pointed, goal driven persona, and so let others and other _things_ fall on the wayside unintentionally. It took a great deal to invest him fully in something outside his realm, which was why he was quite surprised in the current moment.

He was standing before a dirty, oil stained counter, a pair of green eyes blinking at him from the other side. Dean Winchester's eyes. They were rather striking, something he'd never noticed before, and it was then, despite neither of them knowing, that their story began.

"Novak," Dean stated, Castiel raising his eyebrows as the strange moment of fog lifted, those eyes becoming just eyes once again. He wondered, only fleetingly, what they had been otherwise. "No butler then?"

"He has the day off," Castiel replied straight, momentarily unaware of the teasing in Dean's expression. No, he wasn't exactly good at reading people. "Not that it matters," he said after a pause, only a hint of defensiveness entering his tone. "I'm perfectly capable of picking up my own vehicle." Dean was grinning (but wasn't he always?), generally amused by the paced, deliberate fashion in which Castiel spoke – whenever he happened to hear the guy talk.

"No need to get upset," Dean assured, which only itched at Cas's irritation more. "It not every day the great Castiel Novak graces Bobby's Shop with his presence." A fake bow. "Might I interest you in a cool beverage or hot towel while you wait?"

Castiel was not impressed.

"I just want my car."

Dean and that stupid grin.

"Alright, alright," he huffed a sigh, reaching under the counter and retrieving a set of keys. He held them up to show, the ring around his finger. "It's out back, locked up. You can either wait here and I can pull it up or you can come back with. Doesn't matter to me." He turned away, leaving it up to Castiel to decide. Supposing there was no point in remaining inside, he trailed the grease monkey, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Dean headed out the front door of the shop.

He hadn't realized, until he'd walked into the shop, that Dean had worked there. Fact was, he didn't know much of anything about Dean Winchester. Other than the fact that Michael and Raphael found him rather annoying. Of course, a few of the other jocks followed such an example, but Castiel didn't generally involve himself in the school's social politics. Whatever Dean was or wasn't, he hadn't been curious about it until that moment, walking into an auto repair shop at one in the afternoon on a Saturday.

"I'm the one who changed your oil," Dean was saying as they started across the lot, the sun shining through the clouds above. "So if you have any issues, you know where to find me." They walked by a black, '67 Impala, Castiel aware that it belonged to Dean. That he owned the classic car was about the only thing he'd known about him previous to discovering where he worked.

"I'll keep that in mind," Castiel replied, tone chill as ever as they reached a gated section of the lot. Dean turned back and smiled at him, perhaps knowingly, before focusing on the gate. Castiel wasn't sure what to make of the expression, but also equally decided that he didn't care. Rather, he surveyed Dean further, taking in his blue, dirty coveralls, his black, ratty boots. His hair, which was somewhat mussed. There was a single black splotch on his left temple.

It wasn't a bad look, Castiel decided. The whole working-stiff-mechanic thing. In fact, Dean was rather attractive in it all.

As this thought crossed his mind however, Castiel furrowed his brows. He hadn't been expecting it, really. Finding Dean attractive that was. Yet the more he watched Dean – the way he shoved back the lock before pushing the gate open, how his bow-legs gave his gait a kind of confident saunter – the more aggressively the feeling overtook Castiel.

It was all very unexpected.

"It's right over here," Dean gestured to the left as the two entered the enclosed lot. "Got to say, it was kind of a pain in the ass, but, then again, these luxury cars usually are."

"I apologize," Castiel remarked, no hint of sincerity in his voice. All politeness. Deciding to ignore the way his eyes wanted to keep staring at Dean, he instead approached his car. A silver, Mercedes SL-Class Roadster. Besides that, he didn't know really anything about cars, aside from how to start one, but such knowledge wasn't exactly pertinent to his everyday lifestyle.

"Sure," Dean laughed, holding out the key as he came up beside Castiel. He smelled like oil and leather, Castiel taking a deep breath quite unintentionally. He'd never stood so close to Dean Winchester before. "Just make sure to tell everybody you know who worked on it. By that, I mean Bobby's Shop."

Castiel nodded, taking the keys before rounding the front of the car to the driver's side. Slipping in, he looked around to see that everything was as he'd left it before starting it up. Casting one last look at Dean before he pulled out, he saw that the other man had backed out of the way and was waving lazily.

Returning the gesture, Castiel was soon pulling out onto the road, unsure what to make of the odd exchange. Or at least it'd seemed odd to him. Yet the longer he thought about it, the more ridiculous the fact that he _was_ thinking about it seemed. Dean was just a guy, one that went to his school. Nothing worth thinking about. Forcefully, because logic ordered much of Castiel's life, he shoved the conversation (if one would even call it that) from his mind. Driving through the familiar streets of their Texas town, he was home within some fifteen minutes, his car recognized by the men who worked the gates. Allowing him right in, he drove down the length of the drive, parking in the roundabout in front of the house. Accustomed to the large extravagance of the front pillars, broad porch, and marble stairs, he didn't give them another thought as he climbed and pushed his way through the front door.

He was home alone, his mother having dropped him off to pick up his car on her way to his aunt's. His father was on a business trip, as was usual, and their "butler" (maid, housekeeper, whatever) was, as he'd said, having a day off. Not that the solitude was somehow bothersome. He was used to it, really. He didn't talk much to their butler and both his parents worked strenuous hours. Really, there was nothing out of the ordinary about it.

Tossing his keys into the bowl just inside the entranceway, he was soon heading up the left side of the split stairs bordering the foyer. Going directly to his room, which was really more akin to a wing, he made his way inside before closing the door behind him.

The "room" was divided into three sections. Upon first entering, he was confronted with the sitting area. White carpet, silver accents, black leather furniture, small chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Sleek and modern, it was crisp and clean, which was to his preference. He had numerous art pieces hung around, all of which he'd picked out personally. To the right, the carpet became black marble, his bathroom, with its steps leading to the hot tub beneath the windows, was sectioned off not by walls, but curtains, which were currently tied to the pillars interspersed throughout the room. Castiel liked curtains, the ones he had currently light blue and slightly transparent. His bed, dresser, desk, etc, was sectioned off in a similar manner, a canopy hanging above his pillows. For all the sleek design of the room, the curtains added a kind of softness, a femininity, that he appreciated.

With his bed to the left, there remained only his closet, which was locked and kept that way as he headed to his desk. Slipping off his shoes when he sat down, he pulled open his laptop, checking his email and facebook more so out of habit than anything. He had a message from Anna saying something about coming over. Since he hadn't responded in what she'd determined was a timely manner, she'd sent another saying she'd be over around two. Castiel didn't concern himself with it. The men who worked the gates knew her; she'd be let in with little in the way of a hassle.

Narrowing his eyes at his facebook page, his fingers paused atop the keyboard. Thoughtfully, he pursed his lips before grabbing his mouse and dragging his cursor to the search bar at the top of the page. The name Dean Winchester was soon typed there, the enter key revealing few choices to pick from as far as people with a similar name. The first one, however, was what Castiel was looking for. Clicking at it, the unprotected facebook page was soon revealed for viewing.

Unfortunately, as he scrolled down, there wasn't much to see. Most of what was on the wall were things others had sent or tagged him in. It didn't appear that Dean Winchester had much to say in the way of statuses or even pictures. Any that there were of him were also tagged by someone else, his profile picture being one such as well.

Not that Castiel held anything against him for lacking in social media coverage. Castiel's own page was practically the same thing, his plethora of friends the most active. But, perhaps, in a way, that told him more about Dean than he was giving credit.

"Why are you facebook stalking Dean Winchester?"

Lips pursing, because he wasn't exactly the type to jump in surprise, Castiel turned his head over his shoulder to see Anna standing there. Obviously, he hadn't heard her come in. Or Balthazar for that matter, who was sitting on his bed with his phone in his hand. _He_ was an avid user of social media.

"I wasn't stalking him," Castiel made perfectly clear as he closed his laptop. Turning in his desk chair, he folded his hands in his lap. "I saw him when I went to pick up my car and…" He shrugged.

"You decided to stalk him," Anna repeated, her long hair cascading down her shoulders in combed waves. "I have to say, I'm impressed. Not every day _you_ look up someone on facebook."

"Do you have a point?"

"Do you?" Balthazar asked, finally looking up from his phone with a rather sceavy look on his face. "Don't tell me little Castiel has finally blossomed into a beautiful young woman." His accent made him sound much more dignified than the words erupting from his lips, or so Castiel thought to himself. "Have you wetted you panties for Winchester?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him.

"I wouldn't blame you, of course," Balthazar continued. "Word on the street is he's quite the commodity."

"I hooked up with him once," Anna admitted thoughtfully before frowning. "Then again, so have most of the girls I know, so that's not exactly saying much.

"I have no intention of having intercourse with Dean Winchester," Castiel made clear, pushing on to a new subject. "I assume you're both here because of my aunt's garden party?" Clearly, there could be no other reason. Anna was wearing one of her nineteen-fifties styled dresses with kitten heels, which she only wore when affiliating with wealthy America, and Balthazar had put a tweed jacket on over his typical V-neck t-shirt. Nice jeans of course, and preppy, tie-up dress shoes.

"Of course," Anna curtsied mockingly. "How I do love attending such events, being the bastard, whispered abomination that I am." Yet she was still always invited. Castiel cast her a sympathetic look, one she just shrugged at before sitting quite gracelessly on the bed beside Balthazar, all hunched and boorish. Not that she was any less beautiful for it.

Once upon a time, the Novak housekeeper had been a woman named Amy Milton. As rumor had it, and fights between his parents when Castiel had been far younger, his father had begun an affair with her shortly after he'd been born. Anna was the result of this union, being one year younger than Castiel, as well as the linchpin that had destroyed the Novak marriage.

Castiel wasn't daft after all. Sure, his parents were still married, but it was more so out of religious and career obligation than anything else. Working together in business as they did, a divorce would have made things messy, as well as raised questions at their rather conservative church. So his father went on his road trips where he fed his desires as necessary and when his mother brought home the occasional "houseguest," Castiel pretended not to notice. Maybe it was messed up, and maybe he found it ironic how outwardly invested his parents were in their image while shattering it privately, but it was what it was.

In any case, supposing it was the responsible thing to do, Jimmy Novak had put Amy Milton and her daughter up in a nice, nearby house where they survived quite well off of child support. Not to say anything against Amy Milton in all this – she was a nice enough lady as far as Castiel was concerned, and he supposed his father did at least owe them financial stability, being the millionaire that he was. Everyone in the neighborhood knew about the transgression, but like other "secrets," it was whispered about only, never brought to light. Like every kind of "wrong" – religious, marital, or otherwise – so long as it wasn't talked about openly, it didn't actually exist. His parents were good people, the murmurs about their private lives only that.

Castiel found it all rather ridiculous.

"Don't put yourself down now," Balthazar said to her. "I'm sure you're not the only one, just the one everybody knows about." And refuses to discuss. His words didn't bring Anna any comfort, her un-amused expression saying as much. Not that Balthazar had had any actual good intentions.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Anna changed the topic, looking to Castiel. He was sporting a simple blue sweater and loose fitting jeans. Fine and neat for going out on errands, but not good enough for school, and definitely not a neighborhood garden party.

"No," he shook his head, yet made no attempt to rise and get dressed.

"Well let's see," Anna was on her feet again, going to Castiel's dresser and wardrobe on the other side of the room. "What, oh what, do we have to choose from?" Pulling open the doors to the wardrobe, she was soon rummaging through the contents, Castiel not the least bit concerned about what she'd find. She did this often, go through his clothes. When she wasn't picking them out at the store in the first place.

"I think you should wear your swim uniform. Drive all the older ladies wild." Balthazar's commentary wasn't helpful.

"Oh, I know, this is perfect!" Anna turned, holding up a floral printed halter dress, not unlike the one she was currently wearing. Except that it was a considerable amount shorter. "You'd shock everyone."

"I'm not wearing that," he stated quite seriously, despite such a response being obvious.

"Why in god's name do you have that in your wardrobe?" Balthazar asked, finally finding something interesting enough to distract him from his phone. Slipping the contraption into his jacket pocket, he looked skeptically to Castiel.

"He tried it on a few weeks ago when we were out shopping," Anna explained before Castiel could. "He looked so good in it," she winked at her brother, "that we thought it only wise to make the purchase." Which, despite how Castiel might feel obligated to defend himself otherwise, he knew was true, so that left him only to shrug.

"Why does this not surprise me?" Balthazar asked. "Really? Why? I've never seen you in a dress before, but I just can't gather any amount of astonishment." Castiel just shrugged again however, Anna rolling her eyes above a smile as she put the dress back in the wardrobe.

"Here, you don't wear this jacket that often," Anna pulled the navy piece of clothing from the wardrobe and tossed it to him. It was followed by a blue, pinstriped button-up shirt, kaki slacks, and a blue tie.

"I can dress myself, you know," Castiel lightly scolded, but Anna didn't bother with a response. Rather, supposing what she'd picked out was adequate, he stood before beginning to remove his shirt. Soon he was standing there in only his briefs, not at all bothered by the lack of modesty. He'd grown up with both Anna and Balthazar – they'd seen more of each other than most – but, that aside, Castiel wasn't exactly the most moved by modesty. Not to say he was promiscuous, but more so that he wasn't ashamed of his body and didn't particularly care who saw it. He was a swimmer after all, his uniform for such _maybe_ a few more inches of fabric than his underwear.

"That's so unfair," Anna started as she sat down beside Balthazar again, the both of them clearly watching Castiel change. "He has better legs than I do." Castiel cast her a skeptical eye, but didn't comment.

"Smoother too," Balthazar cracked, smiling at the fact that Castiel kept his body shaved completely on a regular basis. Again, that was due to swimming, but that didn't mean the excuse would save him from ridicule. Thankfully, Castiel had a pretty thick skin, and so jokes about how he dealt with body hair hardly bothered him. After all, he wasn't a state champion swimmer for nothing, which was usually enough to shut up critics. Balthazar, of course, being the annoying best friend that he was, didn't abide by such stats, instead taking any fuel he could to poke fun.

"You're just jealous," Castiel decided was an adequate reply.

"Ha, whatever you say," Balthazar replied. It couldn't be denied, however, that Castiel was in good shape. Hair or not, he was in prime physical condition. Muscular, tan, hardly a speck of fat on him, he was the type of wiry "in shape" that came with swimming every morning and running every evening. Castiel was, really, a rather physical human being, despite how his distant personality might suggest otherwise.

Phone buzzing with a text, Balthazar pull it out again as Castiel slipped up his pants. "Gabriel is getting impatient," he said, Castiel pulling on his shirt next. "Says he's bored." It was Gabriel's mother that was throwing the garden party in the first place. "Wants us to come over now, before all the 'stuffy old people' get there."

"I'm getting dressed, aren't I?" Castiel was knotting his tie.

"I'll tell him we'll be over soon," Balthazar decided. "Though I don't know why he's bothering me. He's _your_ cousin."

"Because Castiel never answers his texts," Anna practically reprimanded. Her evaluation was true however, seeing as Castiel was quite positive he'd left his phone in his car, and so he didn't respond. "And when he does, it's always with one-word answers." Which was apparently annoying.

"I'm sorry I don't live by my phone," he said, finally pulling on his jacket. Already he could feel the way the outfit was constricting him however, his hands coming up and loosening his tie quite unconsciously. "If someone really wants to get ahold of me, then they'd best know where I am." Going to his bed, where his shoes were neatly lined up underneath, he pulled out a pair of black loafers, already wearing socks, and slipped them on.

"Ready then?" Anna was standing. Nodding, Castiel trailed her to the door, Balthazar last as they headed out, down the stairs, and back into the balmy Texas afternoon. It was late December, all of them on holiday break from school. Christmas had just passed and New Years was coming up in a few days. Hence Castiel's aunt's after Christmas garden party.

Parked behind his Mercedes was Balthazar's Porsche Spyder, custom painted a light gold. Anna's car was after that – a purple and white, duel striped, Shelby mustang, one of the new models. Lined up as they were, they all looked quite impressive. That was, if it weren't for the looming, giant mansion in the foreground.

And because they'd grown up wealthy without a thought to needed transportation, they each rounded their cars to the drivers' sides, climbed in, and started their engines. Pulling his sunglasses down from the visor, Castiel slipped them on before running a hand through his nearly black hair. In the same moment, Balthazar's gold Porsche went whipping around him, revving and speeding off down the drive. Slipping his Mercedes into drive, he followed soon after, Anna coming last. The gates opened as soon as Balthazar was seen speeding down, the bars just clearing his car as he swerved out into the road rather recklessly and sped off. Castiel was far more even-tempered behind the wheel, actually stopping to look both ways before going.

The trip to his aunt's was, maybe, three minutes tops. The gate was open when they arrived, the long driveway twisting up onto the property and into a patch of trees. Balthazar's rear lights had already disappeared into the canopy. In comparison to his own parent's finances, Gabriel's mother and father were far richer. Billionaires. The wealthiest in the neighborhood, which was why everyone felt obligated to come to all their stupid parties. Or at least make an appearance.

Winding their way up the drive, the trees soon opened up into a large lot, a huge mansion rising up behind it. Parked along the side was a red Ferrari Italia, Gabriel's vehicle of choice. Balthazar pulled up beside it, then Castiel, and lastly Anna. Exiting, they each straightened their outfits before heading up the stone sidewalk to the stairs and into the grand foyer of the house. Three stories high, large crystal chandelier, and grandiose in every way, the teenagers completely ignored the allure as they headed straight across the house, through the sun room, and out the back door the led to the courtyard. There, sitting up on the back of one of his mother's expensive lawn chairs, was Gabriel.

"About time you guys got here," he breathed out in irritation as he jumped down and strolled angrily toward them, shaggy brown hair pushed back and dapper suit in place. He had to shift past a few tables to reach them, Castiel spotting his aunt and mother across the lawn talking to the help as he removed his sunglasses and clipped them over his breast pocket. "I swear, if I have to watch one more bowl of punch be rejected by my mother, I'm going to _punch_ somebody in the face."

"I understand you're frustrated Gabe, but that doesn't justify poorly thought out puns," Balthazar lectured as he twisted his Rolex on his wrist. Gabriel gave him a dirty look, but didn't rebuke.

"It looks like things are coming together smoothly enough to me," Anna smiled a little too sweetly as she placed herself in one of the chairs, Castiel following her example shortly after. "I mean, the hor d'oeuvres are set, the wine is cooling. And look," she reached out to the table and retrieved a delicately frosted mini cake, "we each get a little gift on our plates. What more to life could there be?" She popped said cake between her red lips as Gabriel turned his nasty look on her.

"People are going to start getting here soon and I'm going to have to pretend to be the perfect, angel-boy my parents are forcing me to be," Gabriel snarled. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. My mother," his hand became a claw of frustration, "already has me scheduled for an interview at Yale. I don't even have good enough grades to get in there, but I'm still going!" Huffing, he slammed himself down in the chair beside Castiel, who cast him a sympathetic frown.

"You complain an awful lot considering how good a school that is," Balthazar replied as he lastly sat down, his phone in his hand again. "Going to Yale, lord, what torture."

"Not all of us are ivy league material," Gabriel hissed.

"They can't make you do anything you don't want to do," Anna's more caring, understanding switch was flipped. "So what if you have to do an interview or whatever. You can go to school wherever you want. We're adults and can apply anywhere. Right Castiel?" Looking for support from the other person who might care.

"Don't ask him," Gabriel rolled his eyes. "He's in the same boat as me, 'cept he'll actually get accepted on merit and not money bribes." Castiel tightened his lips, uncomfortable with where the conversation was going.

"You said you applied to where _you_ wanted to go," Anna stated then, fully intent on Castiel.

"Yeah, Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Dartmouth. _Princeton_," Gabriel shook his head. "Perfect places for Castiel here, but not for me." Anna turned her attention back to Gabriel, which was relieving to Castiel. College was something he didn't exactly want to discuss.

"I'm going to Cambridge," Balthazar interjected, raising a single finger before then going back to his phone.

"I don't even know if I'm cut out for college _at all_," Gabriel continued, leaning forward in his chair. "I'm not some super smart genius like Castiel who'll… probably be president or something." Castiel sank back against his chair. "And I'm not some talented violinist like you, or… whatever it is that makes Balthazar so special. What, being British?"

"That's offensive '_mate_,'" Balthazar rebuked, pursing his thin lips while Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Not everyone goes to Cambridge. Only royalty, and other important people."

"The royal family didn't go there," Gabriel commented, becoming suspicious. "Wait, are you royalty?"

Balthazar wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Okay, well, where _do_ you want to go to college?" Anna tried to stay on point.

"I don't _want_ to go to college," Gabriel whipped back around to her. "Like I said, it's not for me." She was clearly skeptical. "What I want to do is pack up from this dump," he gestured around the courtyard, what with its marble fountains and live swans, "and move to California. Hollywood. I wanna make movies."

"Yeah, okay," Anna crossed her arms. "That sounds plausible.

Gabriel glared. "Not all of us are dry little bookworms like Cassie here, okay?" Castiel sank more in his seat as Gabriel gestured flippantly to him. "I'm a creative person. Got to let my freak flag fly, you know?"

"I'm a creative person too," Anna replied sharply. "I _am_ going to music school. And Castiel," she turned to him, "there's nothing wrong with being book smart. You do you; Gabriel's just being a jerk."

Castiel bit the inside of his lip.

"This place man," Gabriel shook his head. "It's suffocating."

"Gabriel!" His mother's voice cracked over them all, the boy in question scowling. "Tuck in your shirt! People are arriving!" Naomi, Castiel's mother, eyed her son as well, but was seemingly satisfied when her brood was clearly well dressed. Gabriel, on the other hand, only un-tucked his shirt from his suit more. His mother looked as though to reprimand him again, but was distracted when one of the state representatives walked in off the deck.

"I _hate_ this place," he hissed as that same guest's son walked over to join them.

"Hello Michael," Anna greeted civilly, Michael's political father and mother going over to join the "adults."

"Hey Anna," he greeted, all stone Greek statue and blonde hair and perfect smile. About as much thought going on up in his head as a rock too, but someone had to be the star football player. Not to say he wasn't smart, but, well, he took direction a little too well, to say the least. "Castiel, Gabriel, Balthazar."

"Hey," Gabriel greeted rather unenthusiastically, which earned him a concerned eyebrow furrow from Michael.

"He's being moody, ignore him," Anna waved off the exchange, Michael able to easily do as she advised.

"What're you all talking about?" he asked, his hands going to his pockets.

"College," Anna again.

"Oh yeah?" Michael grinned. "I'm hoping to get into Notre Dame on scholarship. Football, you know."

"Why do you need a scholarship?" Gabriel asked a little spitefully. "None of us need that. Leave it for someone else." Michael didn't seem to understand his perspective however, his clueless expression saying as much. Because as far as Michael was concerned, "scholarship" was just a word used to elevate his social status, not his actual living situation. Something for his father to brag about while the forty-seven percent of underprivileged America suffered for things they _obviously_ didn't deserve.

"Being pissy again are we?" A new voice entered the conversation. It was Raphael, who'd just come out off the back of the house. Uriel and Zachariah trailed him as well, thus completing the group of most popular football players in the school, which didn't exactly equate to skill level.

"Fuck off Raphy," Gabriel stuck out his tongue childishly.

"Language, language," a female voice chastised lastly. It was Luci, Michael's younger sister. As blonde and perfect as he, the two contrasted greatly with Raphael and Uriel's darker complexions. "Wouldn't want your parents to hear that fowl mouth of yours." She was sitting on the arm of Gabriel's chair, smiling.

"If only they knew the places your mouth has been," Gabriel replied, smiling equally. Perhaps the line sounded insulting, but the way Gabriel left it was far more flirtatious than anything, Luci raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"Where's your mouth been?" Michael asked stupidly, his younger sister sighing and throwing him an exasperated look.

"I believe it was a dirty joke," Zachariah offered, ever the loyal sidekick with premature balding. Not the most attractive guy, to say the least.

"Oh…"

"Don't think too hard on it Michael," Gabriel assured. "You won't appreciate where it takes you."

"_Anyway_," Anna persisted, attempting to once again redirect the conversation. Castiel, however, was beginning to lose interest, his attention falling away from the discussion. He instead distracted himself with watching the crowd, and the people that filed in and out. How they went from group to group, all extravagant laughter and pretend pleasantries. With there expensive suits and big hats and wine glasses. Pastel colors and lace accents. It was like something right out a painting – the kinds he didn't like. And then the voices, and the high-pitched hellos. And the way they all seemed to crowd in around him. Like sharks in a tank that fed on one another.

It was disgusting. And unnecessary.

Yet that seemed to be how every moment went on around him. Same thing day in and day out, hour after hour. Garden party after garden party. Never changing, never ending. At least, that was the feeling the plagued him for the entirety of the afternoon. None of his friends questioned his silence, mostly because they were accustomed to it. Castiel didn't say much, at least not to them. Not when he was surrounded by suits and diamonds. Anna, Balthazar, and Gabriel knew better, knew that he was far more talkative otherwise, but also that they weren't likely to get much out of him in such a place. Which was why he was left to his torturous thoughts for near four hours, going uninterrupted until Gabriel yanked him back into the game.

"Castiel!" he shouted, the boy in question finally hearing the call and turning his blue eyes up to his cousin, who was standing over him in obvious irritation. "I swear man, when you zone out…"

"My apologies."

"'_My apologies_,'" Gabriel mocked, dropping his voice considerably deeper in an attempt to mimic his cousin's. "Did you hear anything I said?" Castiel's silence spoke volumes. "I _said_, I'm gettin' out of here. There's a party downtown I was gonna hit up, way better than this. Besides," he smirked knowingly, "I've got some business to deal with, if you know what I mean." He rubbed his fingers together. "You game?"

And Castiel, who was pretty selective about parties (unless they were "garden parties" where his mother would be present) glanced back at Anna and Balthazar, who were the only two nearby besides. The others of their class were some yards off, talking about something else. The kind of invitation Gabriel was offering wasn't exactly their kind of thing anyway. Not to say they didn't party, because they did, but Gabriel tended to have extracurriculars a little… deeper than some of their "class" could stomach.

"We're gonna go," Anna shrugged, her scrutinizing eyes going to Gabriel. "And what 'business?' Are you doing illegal stuff again? I don't get it, it's not like you don't have money. What's the point?"

"That is the point," Gabriel snapped back. "It's money, that's mine, that I get under the wire." He grinned. "Wouldn't mom and pop be proud?" Anna sighed and shook her head.

"Seriously, are you coming or no?" Balthazar questioned. "I'd rather get out of here before, you know," he gestured back to their peers, "_they_ come back."

"Where is it?" Castiel asked and Gabriel rolled his eyes. Sorry he liked to know what kinds of things he was getting himself into.

Anna smiled knowingly however, as if granted an epiphany. "Dean Winchester will probably be there." She winked at him suggestively, which drew a questioning look from Gabriel and a chuckle from Balthazar. Castiel sighed.

"And that's supposed to somehow sway my decision?"

Anna shrugged innocently.

"Isn't he straight?" Gabriel asked, head cocking to the side as he looked down at Castiel.

"Fine, I'll go," he agreed, if only to get the subject dropped. "And I wouldn't know," he continued as he stood. "I don't make a habit of knowing anything about him." He narrowed his eyes at Anna, but she was hardly affected.

"I could imagine him swinging both ways," Balthazar started as they began to skirt their way around the edge of the party, Gabriel looking back in slight paranoia, but his mother and father were far too preoccupied to see him sneaking off. "Maybe."

With little in the way of obstacles, they were inside the foyer again, Gabriel grabbing his keys from a chest against the wall before they were headed back out into the drive. The sun was setting, what with it being the middle of winter and the days being short, and they were thankful to see that none of their cars had been blocked in. Then again, not like there wasn't enough parking space.

"There's not going to be a whole lot of room when we get there, so we should double up," Gabriel stated as they made their way over. None of their cars could hold more than two people, with the exception of Anna's mustang. But the back seat in that thing was more of a shelf than a seat. "Anna, you're with me," Gabriel decided, to Anna's obvious surprise. She didn't object however, the way he cocked an eyebrow at her suggesting something mischievous. Grabbing a bag from her car, she was soon climbing inside the Ferrari beside him.

"Wherever we're going, there's no way I'm driving my Porsche and leaving it there," Balthazar made perfectly clear, handing Castiel a knowing look. Not that it mattered. Castiel was happy to drive. Sure he liked his car, but, at the end of the day, that was all it was. He didn't exactly have any sentimental attachment. Gabriel apparently didn't either, happy to take his Ferrari anywhere as he was already whipping out of the drive as Castiel and Balthazar dropped down into the Mercedes. He waited at the end for them to catch up however, because Castiel didn't know where they were going, and soon enough they were on the road.

With the horizon dimming, they curved their way down into the city, beyond the center of town, and into the southern outskirts. It wasn't exactly what Castiel would label the best part of town. Well, actually he'd maybe say they were inching toward the worst. But he'd attended a few parties with Gabriel on this end (maybe three?) and supposed that so long as they were with a larger group, they were safer. It wasn't like he was going to be wandering the streets on his own or something.

The party, as they turned down Clifton street, was visible within the fourth house one the right. There were cars parked along the side of the road, people out on the sidewalks with beers and cigarettes. Were the windows down, Castiel would have been able to hear their laughter and the music, the lights inside the house all glaring through the windows.

Gabriel, because that was the kind of guy he was, bypassed the street parking and ran his Ferrari right up on the small lawn in front of the rundown, blue paneled house. Engine revving, everyone sitting out on the porch visibly looked down, some smiling and waving at the familiar vehicle. Clearly, Gabriel was a welcome guest.

Having been following, Castiel followed his cousin's example and drove his Mercedes up on the lawn beside him. Climbing out into the evening air, he was finally privy to the shouting welcome Gabriel was getting from nearly everyone as he ducked out of his sports car with a black duffel bag in his hands. He waved good-naturedly, his suit jacket and bowtie abandoned as he skipped up the steps to join the happy crowd.

Castiel, removing his own jacket and tossed it into his car, loosened his tie further, and rolled his sleeves up as Anna came to join both him and Balthazar. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt now, Castiel unable to fathom how she'd changed in Gabriel's little car. Or why she'd have done so with his cousin present. Then again, for all Gabriel's faults, he wasn't a perv. He was actually a pretty decent guy – when he wasn't _purposefully_ being an asshole.

"What'd you two chat about?" Balthazar asked upon noticing the smug look on Anna's face.

"Nothing," she shrugged, looking once to Castiel before winking and heading toward the house. Eyebrows furrowed, Castiel followed, but didn't question. He'd know eventually if it was relevant.

As they climbed up on the porch, Castiel spotted Gabriel sitting down amongst people he didn't initially recognize. But then he heard that familiar, business voice, Fergus Crowley's face becoming familiar. It was a group of dropouts, all of them chatting with Gabriel as though they saw him every day. Of course he couldn't be surprised that Crowley and Gabriel would still be on speaking terms. As far as Gabriel's "business" went, he supplied the goods and Crowley dished them out, or so they'd worked before the latter had stopped coming to school. And by "dished them out," he meant dealt them accordingly depending on the politics of the situation. Because what they did could get messy quick, even Castiel knew that.

"Hey man," someone Castiel didn't know greeted him as he walked through the front door, holding a joint out to him as if it were a welcome gift. Taking it between his fingers, Castiel did the polite thing and took a breath before passing it back to Balthazar and Anna, who did the same, the joint going on to others coming in and out as they entered the foggy house.

Loud music reverberated from wall to wall, Castiel waving his hand in front of his face as he walked by a heavily smoking group standing in the entranceway. It wasn't a big house by any means, and was clearly procured somewhere along the poverty line. Stained carpet, chipping paint, ripped wallpaper. The hardwood floors were dirty, their cracks filled with grime and dust stomped in over the years. He walked through the kitchen, where people were snorting powder off the counters, and took note of the water stains at the backs of the sinks, how the fridge didn't fit quite right against the wall, and how the stove burners were half missing. There was a large crack going along the ceiling, which graduated into the living room. There was where the music was coming from, a haze of smoke above everyone's heads as some sat lazily in the ripped sofas and others danced along the edges, most holding drinks, cigs, or joints. A keg was set up against the side windows, people standing around them with red cups and smiles plastered to their faces. The stereo was probably the most valued thing in the room, and set up on a shelf out of harms way.

It was there that he saw him.

Holy jeans, leather jacket, surrounded by a crowd. Dean Winchester. He was just reaching away from the stereo, having selected a new piece of music and causing momentary silence. Strapped around his neck was a guitar strap, said instrument placed skillfully in his hands as the music came back on.

Blinded by the Light, Manfred Mann. Castiel knew it. A classic.

Dean held a joint in his left hand on the strings, his right doling out electric notes with the song. A smile on his face, those around him cheered and laughed. He clearly knew how to play, the instrument hooked up to one of the amps beside the stereo system. And Dean, ever the extravert, was singing out the lyrics with others in the room.

"_Blinded by the light, revved like a deuce, another runner in the night!_"

Anna, drawn to the music, was dancing her way into the fray, a drink already in her hand as she joined the audience. Balthazar headed over as well, Castiel content to watch from the sidelines. Chords screaming from the amp, Dean strummed at the guitar, belting out the lyrics almost comically as he danced around like a maniac. Everyone watching was entertained, Anna having plopped down on a couch amongst four others, Balthazar standing behind, looking only vaguely amused.

And as the song hit it's slowed guitar solo, Dean really fell into his forte, eagerly taking on the solo and expanding on it further to the thrill of everyone listening. He was biting is lip, his joint falling from between his fingers as he fingered up and down the instrument. There was something exciting about the way he felt up the music, his eyes closed and his forehead covered in sweat. Something sensual almost – like he was making love to the very notes.

Building and building until the tension with the music exploded with the pressure, Dean's arms spreading wide as he threw his sweaty head up, opened his eyes, and belted out the coming lyrics.

Castiel mouthed them too, aware of the way he was staring. And the way those green eyes caught him across the room in the same moment.

"Mama always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun, but _mama_-

-that's where the _fun is_!"

A smirk beneath green eyes, Castiel cocked an eyebrow, and Dean's hands fell back to the guitar. But they stared, Castiel unsure what to make of the attention. So much so that his head fell to the side, eyes narrowing.

He didn't see the way Anna was watching him. Or the woman who approached him from the left.

"Well if it isn't Clarence," a familiar, drawn out voice punctuated Castiel's senses, drawing his eyes from Dean and to the short woman standing beside him. Long brown hair, tube top, tight jeans. A snarky smirk. Meg Masters. Another dropout. This one he remembered quite clearly however, mostly because he'd made the mistake of making out with her once during sophomore year at a party he hardly remembered. Not that it'd been a mistake because he had something against Meg, but because she never let him live it down. That the great Castiel had been drunk enough to have sloppy make outs with someone from the south side.

"You know perfectly well that's not my name," he replied, taking the joint she handed up to him and puffing once before returning it to her.

"My angel," her smirk deepened, Castiel's eyes going only quickly back to Dean to see he was bouncing around with the guitar again, clearly distracted. "Come on back with me Clarence, we're having fun out in the yard. Unless, of course, you're too good for that." She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

Nodding, he trailed her from the room, more so out of having little else to do otherwise than because of her comment.

The dynamic between the "classes" in their school was an interesting one. Once upon a time, there'd been two schools, one for the rich and one for everyone else. The latter, however, had been forced to close due to lack of funding (surprise, surprise) and so everyone had then transferred to the other, mostly because there'd been no other choice. Tuitions were lowered to nothing in the case of those who couldn't afford to go and so the two social groups were pushed into one. This was long before Castiel had entered high school, but it did result in some of the oddest stats statewide. Not only did their school have an incredibly high dropout rate, but also produced some of the most ivy league applicants in the state. The curriculum was excessively flexible, able to work for those of the highest level as well as those barely passing. Which was why those like Gabriel were able to get along so well with people he might not have otherwise even met.

And why Castiel had happened upon a party where he and Meg Masters had gotten to know the insides of each other's mouths quite intimately.

"Castiel Novak," a voice greeted as he was brought out onto the back porch. The music still thrummed from inside, Castiel sitting down in a chair and recognizing Alastair as the man that addressed him while Meg placed herself quite comfortable on the arm beside him. Alastair was a few years older than Castiel – had already been a dropout when he was a freshmen – and, honestly, Castiel didn't have much love for the guy. He spoke with a dragged out, soupy disposition, like any words that came from between his lips were likely to seep through cracks and stain everything, and hardly ever said what he meant. Which was quite the opposite of Castiel.

"Here, take a drag," he offered a small bong and lighter, Castiel pursing his lips as he accepted. Outside parties, Castiel wasn't exactly into the marijuana scene. He didn't have anything against it, and had done it plenty of times before, but the initial buzzing always nauseated him slightly. And he was just about hitting that point from the previous joints. But he knew it'd pass, and so took the handout, lit the bong, and took a deep breath of it before handing it to Meg. Sitting back in the chair, he closed his eyes, his head beginning to inflate as his body tingled and spun.

"Here Clarence," Meg spoke to him a few seconds later, spurring him to look up at her and the red cup she was offering him. "Wash it down with this." Rolling his eyes, he accepted the drink, taking a long gulp. Furrowing his brows, he eyed the woman beside him suspiciously. She'd put something in it.

A grin and an innocent shrug was all he got in response.

"Awfully trusting, aren't you?" A man's voice interjected, laughing as Castiel continued to sip the drink.

"I'm not worried about it," he admitted honestly as the bong came back around to him again. He took another light.

"See, my Clarence. Doesn't see any of the bad about me," Meg reached out and pinched his cheek.

"I wouldn't say that," Castiel replied. "Rather, I think it's the exact opposite." He cocked an eyebrow up at her. "I see _all_ the bad about you."

"Oh," Meg laid her arm around the back of his chair, "you're making my lady parts go all gooey."

"Why don't you two just get a room right now," another unfamiliar voice. "That's clearly what you have in mind." Referring to Meg.

"Oh of course not," Meg pouted innocently. "I'd never take advantage of poor Clarence that way. He'd too innocent." Which wasn't at all true, actually. Sure, Castiel didn't sleep around with people he went to school with, but that was simply because he didn't want to be run through the rumor mill. Mostly because his preferences wouldn't be very well accepted by his conservative, Christian dominated school. For all the parties and drugs around, a little sexual variance was a sin amongst sins.

However, Castiel went to swim meets all over the state and country, and it wasn't that difficult to get around when there were a whole bunch of boys from all over the nation staying in one hotel, as he'd found out his freshmen year on the team. Now, again, he didn't sleep around, but he was still a hot-blooded young man. And sometimes those swim uniforms really did expose a person. And what they wanted.

"Ugh, Winchester must be in charge of the stereo again," Alastair complained a moment later, taking a drink of his own beer as he stared back into the windows of the house. All that had been playing was classic rock. "Sometimes I really want to just rip that guy apart." He smirked however.

"That's disgusting," mystery guy's voice interjected. "He straight anyway."

"Yeah, okay," Alastair laughed, bong once again in hand. "Believe whatever you want to believe." Castiel smirked, laughing a little, but didn't comment. His arms were feeling very large and heavy, and there was the vague feeling of his hair growing on his head. He was thankful the rest of him was hairless.

He blinked, aware of the way the world spun a little. What had Meg put in his drink?

"I do get a little tired of hearing the same tunes over and over again every time he's here," Alastair was going on, Castiel only half listening. He was more focused on the way the beat of the music shook the house at his feet. How it hit his skin and then sank in through the muscle and tickled his bones. His legs felt restless, like there were bugs crawling all up and down them, and he wanted to move.

Pushing forward against the chair, he stood abruptly, thankful when there was no swaying or stumbling. Meg laughed at him, but he ignored it, instead turning and heading back inside. Drink still in hand, he pushed his way through the crowd, his legs feeling quite like they were walking through jello. Or water. And there was nothing but air beneath them.

It was nice, in a way. But also seemed, logically, like it'd be a little dangerous – to float around like that.

He returned to the living room, his eyes going immediately to the stereo. But no, not what he was looking for. And while the music was wonderful, like a big cloud pushing against his whole body, it wasn't interesting enough to keep his attention. Instead, pushing his way past anyone in his way, he set about exploring other parts of the house. Searching.

"Whoa, watch it- oh, Cassie," it was Gabriel, a trail of white powder coming down out of his nose that he wiped away as Castiel paused in front of him. "Hey, I got something for you," he was grinning, Castiel supposing he could pause to hear the rest of what he had to say. "Anna and I were talkin' and, well, here, take this," he grabbed Castiel's hand, pulled a container from his pocket, and shoved it at him. Looking down, Castiel saw that it was a small container of lube, which caused him to chuckle a little. "Just in case," Gabriel winked at him, Castiel shoving the bottle into his pant's pocket before pointing to Gabriel, clicking his tongue in farewell, and walking away.

Taking another drink from his cup, he soon found that he'd wandered into the entranceway again. But, ever more perceptive, he took note of a door against the wall, cracked open, and the darkness coming up from inside. Heading over, he pulled it open to the sound of more music, the smell of heaviness, and dim, barely there lighting. Stairs too, and without a second thought he was heading down them. Careful not to spill his drink, he passed by the upper wall and entered the basement.

This was clearly a cozier part of the house. Ratty old couches were set up in the middle around a coffee table, rugs and other makeshift carpets littering the floor. There were studs exposed where there should have been walls dividing up rooms, and the single light above was dangling inside a rusted fixture.

Some of the people littered about were looking exceptionally dazed, heads thrown back against couches as they slouched down inside them. Like above, smoke gathered at the ceiling, fogging out some of what Castiel could see. However, as he made his way down fully, it couldn't hide the man sitting in the single sofa-chair at the head of the room.

There was a hefty cloud of smoke around his head, his eyes closed as his lips parted slightly. A small bong sat on the table beside him, recently used, and his hands were twining through the hair of the woman in his lap. Rather, her head, which was between his legs. The rest of her was crouched down in front of him, Castiel only having to see the way her head bobbed to know what she was doing.

At first, Castiel wasn't sure how to respond. There was Dean Winchester, no one but the woman and Castiel paying him any mind. Yet, were the others present aware enough to realize what was happening, the probably wouldn't even care. Because that was the kind of thing that happened in dark, dingy, old basements. Castiel had seen it all before.

Which was why, as Dean's eyes opened and his thoughts caught up with him, Castiel didn't show any amount of surprise as their gazes met. Rather, he simply scoffed in bitter amusement before shaking his head and turning away. He wasn't sure where he was headed, but his straining legs carried him to the right, past some studs, and into a nook behind a tarped wall. Whatever it was that Meg had slipped into his drink was really beginning to kick in, his vision blurring as he stumbled into the wall in front of him.

But it wasn't a wall. A door. One of those cheap, slatted ones found in trailers and boats. Grabbing the knob, he yanked it open before stumbling in. Clicking it closed behind him, he relished in the relief of total darkness, his eyes closing for a moment as his legs trembled beneath him. For a moment, it felt like maybe his brain was going to leak out his ears, his heart shoved up in his throat. Abruptly, the shadows were suffocating, crowding in on him. His worst fear. The panic gripped him and, reaching around wildly, he tried to find a light.

His hand knocked a string hanging from the ceiling. Pulling on it, a single bulb above his head lighted, igniting the tiny room and allowing him to push his nerves back down into his chest. The room was claustrophobic, but it wasn't falling in on him, which was much better. Concrete floor with a pink rug around the base of the toilet, it was barely a half bath, just enough space for a person to sit with a sink on the other side. A sink that was ringed with iron stains and sporting a cracked mirror above.

Sitting back on the fluffy cover stretched over the seat of the toilet – it matched the rug – Castiel allowed his body to relax, the sweat that was coating his skin chilling as he stared at that crack. Focused on it.

A small puncture in the corner that spidered up and to the left. Ran along the edge of the dusty, wooden frame. Small flecks of the mirror were bordered out, ready to fall, and his reflection staring back at him was disjointed and fragmented. Like a Picasso. Holding up his hand, he waved it in front of the mirror, first along the whole side and then into the crack. And every time it hit that broken piece, a new image came to him. A new way his hand was warped and disfigured.

He stopped after a moment, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he sat back, his head falling against the back of the toilet. His drink had fallen from his hands at some point and splashed across the floor. Not that he paid it any mind. His attention stayed focused on the crack, on the fine chips somehow still pieced together inside. One heavy hit and it'd shatter. All he'd have to do was get up, walk over, and it'd be done.

But the effort wasn't there. Instead, flopped back like a beached fish, he stared and stared, his lashes flicking open and closed occasionally as the minutes passed. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, tracing those lines over and over and over. Half an hour, hour, more. Or maybe only a moment.

His thoughts were slow, like being pulled from sand, and blew away before he could gather them. So it was that crack. That shattered, misshapen, unbalanced crack.

It was hypnotizingly beautiful, in a way.

The door jiggled, Castiel's attention flicked to it, and just as it was being pushed open, he gathered himself enough to sit straighter. Leaning up, he ran his hand through his hair, unable to voice any question about who was impeding on him before they showed themselves.

Tall, bow-legs. Freckles. Green eyes.

Dean. Dean Winchester.

"Thought I saw you wander over here," he commented, Castiel blinking as the words slowly filtered in, speeding up to real time as he tried to clear his head. "You look pretty rough. You alright?" Dean smirked. "Man, I can see it all over your face. You're high as a fuckin' kite."

"It… is not of import," Castiel replied, taking a deep breath as he finally got Dean's face to focus fully. His cheeks were red, rosy maybe, and there was a way in which he leaned against the sink that gave away just how unstable he was as well. "Not that you're one to talk."

"I'm drunk, only a little high," he clarified, holding up his near empty drink. "I try not to overload myself too much." Yet he slipped a little against the sink and had to catch himself, chuckling at the irony of his own statement.

"Meg slipped something in my drink," Castiel explained, feeling a slight headache prowling at the back of his eyes. "I think that's the main problem." Reaching up, he rubbed his temples, trying to gain some sense of stability.

"That's rough," Dean sympathized.

"I knew she'd done it when I drank it," he replied.

"That's still rough," Dean laughed again. He had a good laugh. And a nice smile. Very pretty actually. He was a very pretty young man. Long eyelashes, shapely lips. Almost feminine.

And a body that could kill.

As that last thought filtered through Castiel's head however, he felt his stomach lurch. More so out of a need to move than anything, he stood. Dean stepped to the side as best he could, eyes wide as Castiel pushed forward and gripped at the sink.

He stared at his sweaty, pale face in the mirror, Dean's reflection right beside him looking rather skeptical within the crack.

Head shaking, Castiel allowed his forehead to fall down into his arms, the nausea slowly waning.

"Man, you are _fucked up_ right now," Dean commented, finishing off his beer before leaning over beside Castiel and dropping it stupidly into the sink. It clanked and rolled, the two of them watching it until it came to an unsteady halt.

"Your commentary," Castiel turned his head to look over at him, "is not entirely helpful." Actually, it wasn't at all helpful, but he was trying to be nice. Dean only smiled wider however, his expression becoming kind of giddy. The drunkenness talking probably.

There was a momentary silence while they simply stared at each other, blinking a few times before Dean spoke again.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but," his expression became a little softer, "you have the bluest eyes I've ever seen."

Castiel's lips pulled up on one side. "How am I _supposed_ to take a comment like that?" he asked, fully aware of the way he was flirting. Honestly, Castiel wasn't that good at flirting, not openly anyway. And most of the time he couldn't tell when someone was flirting with him, but Dean was so close, and he was awfully beautiful. And those lips looked perfect.

"I guess…" They were leaning dangerously close together as Dean's breath hit him, "however you want…"

Yeah, Castiel was pretty sure he wanted to kiss him. And he was also pretty sure that most of his inhabitations had been completely decimated by whatever he'd smoked and Meg had dropped in his drink. Which was why he hardly hesitated in pushing himself the rest of he way forward, his eyes closing as he pressed his lips to Dean's. As he tasted the alcohol and drugs still savoring there, along with something a little spicier.

And Dean, who'd known just as well as Castiel what was happening, didn't object. Instead, he gasped in a breath, returning the pressure and pushing himself a little closer to the one currently assaulting his mouth. He'd wanted to start this since that morning, when Castiel had come in and picked up his car. He'd never paid much attention to him before, mostly because they ran in different circles. Standing across from him at the counter was the closest he'd ever been to Castiel, those high stretching, full lips and sharp nose taunting him all day. And then when he'd seen him at the party…

Well, he wasn't moaning as Castiel sucked his lips between his own for nothing.

Reaching up, Dean allowed his hands to grip greedily at Castiel's cheeks, the other man's hand on his shoulders as they were pressed back up against the door, much at Dean's bidding. Heavy breathing, their worlds turning sideways at the loss of oxygen and continued substances in their systems, they ravaged each other's mouths, tongues pushing against one another and exploring as they fell more fully into the moment.

It wasn't until he felt his world begin to fall from under him that Castiel pulled away, mostly attempting to right himself again before he did something as stupid as falling over. And as he opened his eyes, he met green staring back, their breath lingering together in heated wisps.

"I'd rather you didn't tell anyone we were doing this," Castiel said suddenly, his thoughts rolling off his tongue. "I don't make a habit of making out with guys I go to school with." He felt he wouldn't have to say much more than that on the subject. Everyone knew how conservative their community was.

"That won't be a problem," Dean assured, his body pressing closer against Castiel. "I don't make a habit of hooking up with men, personally." And the way he said it seemed to give more away than perhaps he'd intended, Castiel narrowing his eyes as their noses rubbed together.

"Who said anything about hooking up?" he asked breathily, trying to remain flirtatious as he attempted to comprehend the subject he really wanted to address.

"I think it's pretty clear what we both want," Dean smirked, his hips grinding against Castiel's, revealing to both just how ready each was.

"That woman wasn't enough for you?" Castiel asked, smiling as well as their lips hovered just within reach once again.

"Not even close," Dean assured, their lips coming together again. The contact lasted for a long, wet, passion driven moment. One that was cut short by Castiel yet again.

"Tell me," he started, his fingers trailing from Dean's shoulders down beneath his leather jacket and over the thin fabric of his t-shirt. "Have you ever been with a man before?" His lips trailed down from those lips to that chin, Dean breathing heavily above him.

"Well…" Was he uncomfortable? The great Dean Winchester? Castiel smiled a little more. "It can't be that different." He'd resumed his cocky disposition fast enough however, Castiel finding it curious that he'd come to such a conclusion.

"Tell me," he replied, his hand tightening around the fabric of Dean's shirt before he shoved him up against the opposing wall. "What position, exactly, do you think you're about to play here?" His rough handling, and likely his question, really did take Dean by surprise, whose big eyes were blinking and whose mouth had fallen slightly open.

Castiel didn't give him the chance to answer however, silencing anything he might have had to say with his own lips. And while his kiss distracted Dean, his hands trailed the rest of the way down his shirt to the edge of his jeans. He wasn't in the mood to wait, and so he easily un-buttoned the article before dragging down the zipper.

Slipping his hands down along Dean's hips, they thrust forward as his fingers found the skin beneath his boxers. The fabric was taught against the arousal pushed forward, Castiel slow in dragging the fabric down and out of the way, which managed to pull a soft moan from Dean, induced by friction.

And as his pants and boxers finally fell loose around his thighs, they continued on down his knees, Castiel holding Dean's bare hips beneath the edge of his shirt. Thumbs messaging just below his abdomen, their kissing came to a slow halt, their breath far too caught up in what else was happening to retain such focus. Instead, they leaned into each other, one of Castiel's hands eventually pulling forward and slipping around the hard length pushing into his own.

Dean groaned a slight growl in his throat, his gaze on Castiel heavy and demanding. Yet, in the same moment – as if struck by an abrupt wave of aggression – he pushed his own hands forward and to the front of Castiel's own slacks. Yanking them open, he then grabbed hold of both the pants and Castiel's briefs before shoving them down and out of the way. Reaching back, he grabbed Castiel roughly by the ass and pulled him close, their naked hips colliding roughly as their noses and foreheads skimmed together. Still holding Dean tight in his one hand, Castiel registered how half of Dean's grip was soon reaching around for him, his eyes trailing down between them.

And as he slipped Castiel's own desire into his hand, he grinned.

"You swimmers really do shave everywhere," he whispered, Castiel returning the devilish look. Instead of justifying it with a response however, he smashed their lips together, the pumping of their hands close between their bodies falling into a hectic kind of unison as their hips bucked together.

Despite how he delighted in someone else's hands on him however, Castiel had far different ideas about how this encounter was going to end. Not wanting to get Dean too hyped, he took control of himself – as best he could with the chemicals still stuck in his system – and allowed his other hand to drag down beneath Dean's hips.

Which the other boy obviously hadn't been expecting, if the way he gasped said anything.

Castiel wasn't shy however, rather enjoying the way Dean was reacting to him. Hand skimming back, he was soon cupping Dean up between those heated thighs, his finger teasing at the entrance waiting to be penetrated. And despite how Dean's hips bucked to the side in startled shock, his legs also spread a little wider, as if to welcome what Castiel was assuming was a new sensation.

Supposing that invitation enough, he allowed his teasing finger to slip just up inside, Dean sinking back into the wall some in response. And as he pushed all the way up, Dean's whole body seemed to twitch to a grinding halt, his attention to Castiel's own member coming to stop as he took in the way Castiel began stroking him. Searching.

Looking for that one perfect spot that nearly sent Dean falling to his knees.

Moaning again, Dean's eyes closed as Castiel pushed him hard up against the wall, if only to stop him sinking to the floor. The look on his face was so erotically pleased however, and so flushed with pleasure at what Castiel had done, that it was a pretty clear indicator that Castiel had permission to move things on how he really wanted.

"Dean," he said his name, pulling his attention as his finger became abruptly motionless. "I want you bent over."

Dean's chest heaved. "What?"

"Bent over," Castiel whispered up into his ear, registering how Dean's throat gulped in response.

Had he been in a clearer state of mind, had he been less turned on, Dean might have taken more than as second to think over the command. To consider, exactly, what he was about to do. As it were, however, the only thing on his mind was what Castiel had just done to him, and how much he wanted it again. Any doubts were swiftly taken over by that thought, which spurred him to quickly look around in order to obey.

As if coming to the same conclusion, Castiel stepped away, Dean already grieving the way his finger retreated. Stepping to the side, he turned and placed his hands firmly on the top of the toilet tank, lowering his shoulders enough that, as he spread his legs, he knew he was practically sticking his ass up in the air.

For a moment, the vulnerability and emasculinity of the position tried to creep in, something in the back of his head telling him that, were he not drunk and high, there was no way in hell he'd be doing this. Ever. As it were, that voice was swiftly dashed by the hand that reached up between his thighs again. Fingers pulling to the front, Castiel then dragged his grip down along Dean's shaft and back again, his other hand going to his pocket for the bottle Gabriel had given him earlier.

He'd have to try and remember to thank his cousin.

Stepping forward, he wanted to ignore how his slacks around his ankles tried to trip him up, instead kicking off his loafers before losing the pants completely. And as his foggy mind surveyed Dean's posture – how stiff and closed it still was – he realized the other man would have to do the same.

"Boots, lose them," he commanded. "Jeans too." And with only a slight pause, Dean was soon reaching down and pulling off his black biker boots, one at a time before then shaking off his boxers and pants. Returning his hands to the tank, he felt Castiel's hand on the back of his neck, shoving him down lower as his feet were pushed wider by Castiel's own.

Yup, now he was definitely allowing light into places where it normally didn't shine.

Castiel, lube bottle in hand, was soon pulling Dean's thoughts from such things yet again. Fingers wet and covered, he allowed his hand to first slide down between, Dean's body nearly shuddering away from the coldness. Not in the mood for wasting time however, Castiel splayed Dean's muscular legs just a little more, able to take in the view as he pushed his finger back up into that heated entrance.

Dean, gasping, allowed his forehead to fall down atop his arms, which were crossed over the top of the tank. His stomach burst with fluttering heat, which only intensified with each stroke Castiel's finger made inside him. Despite himself, he found it wasn't enough. He wanted more, no matter what kind of pain that might result in.

Which Castiel was more than happy to provide.

Dean wasn't giving him any fight, not objecting in any way, so Castiel allowed his own need to push them on. A second finger in, spreading him wider and pumping against that necessary spot. It wasn't long until he had all three, Dean groaning as he practically pushed back into him.

Castiel, feeling his own impatience – which was fueled some by his foggy mental state – used the remainder of what was in the bottle to prepare himself before reaching out and wrapping his free hand around to the front of Dean's thigh. Gripping him tight, he removed his fingers only long enough to replace them with his own waiting length.

And Dean, whose eyes were closed as he let it happened, gasped out as Castiel thrust himself as deeply in as he could. Other hand pulling at Dean's leather jacket, gripping tight and holding him steady, Castiel paused only a moment to gather himself. To blink away the fogginess in his head before his need for the man in front of him caused his control to wane.

Outside, the music was echoing down into the basement, into their small corner, and voices could be heard laughing and talking. But none of that reached the two, the fact that they were practically strangers hardly seeming relevant as they listened to the heavy breathing between them. As Castiel began to thrust in and out, slowly at first before gradually increasing their rhythm. Dean, lost in it all, allowed his drunken mind to whisk him off, completely uncaring for anything in that moment other than how the man behind him plunged back and forth, their thighs slapping together aggressively. Whatever logic he'd have on the situation, it certainly wasn't going to hit him until he was sober enough to fully comprehend.

And Castiel, his head light and floating with sparks and weightless thought, didn't consider further than the way it felt to have Dean Winchester enclosed so tightly around him, flexing and new and wet. That he'd had a strict rule about getting involved with people he went to school with went right out the window; the potential that his secret, which he hid from nearly everyone aside from a few, could get out was for once lost in the depths of everything else he didn't want to worry about. Because he wanted Dean then, and Dean wanted him, and the wanton desire between them echoed in every plunge Castiel made into the other man.

Every erratic sensation that surged up their bodies, that they shared for only those few moments together, tucked into that tiny corner of a drug induced haze.

Not a care, if only for a short while.

Instead, they focused on each other, on the connection momentarily between them. Castiel on how that heated entrance trapped him, sucking him in and out, thrusting over and over and over again. His hips slammed into Dean, smacking them together loudly, carnally. And Dean, mouth open as he breathed in rhythm, felt the way Castiel opened him up, stretched and filled him in ways he'd never experienced before. He liked it, the way the air became cold around him as Castiel pulled back before sliding harshly back into place. It made him want to spread his legs wider, to take in more, to pull in that length even as it strained his muscles and shoved him forward. He liked the exposure, the visible showing of himself pried wide into the open, despite how it went against every idea he'd ever been taught about himself.

He liked it. He liked it _a lot_.

"Harder!" he begged as the feeling in every other part of his body began to fade. But he didn't care. All he wanted was Castiel and how he rammed him. More. He wanted _more_. "C'mon Cas, _faster_!"

And so Castiel pumped faster. He put more strength into his thrusting, his legs tensing as he bit his tongue. As he built a heavier pattern. Dean breathed with him, huffing against each completed plunge, moaning as pressure built and built in them both.

Dean felt his toes straining against the concrete floor, his voice echoing out against it all yet again. Quite beyond his typical. "Ugh, yes!" He was _loving_ this. "Deeper, Cas. _Deeper_."

Castiel drove as deeply as he could.

He was beginning to reach his peak however, the influence of whatever else was pumping through his system allowing for a little less grace than what he might have otherwise exhibited. Not that it mattered. Dean was giving way beneath him, the feeling of that slick need slipping in and out of him pushing his own desire past the breaking point. With a moan and a dizzying rush through his whole body, Dean felt himself give way, losing himself as the man behind continued to pump inside him.

Dean was a performer however, no matter in what position, and though his legs wanted to give way beneath the exhaustion that was seeping into him, he also had no desire to disappoint the other half of the equation. It was for that reason that he kept himself standing, offered up for use as Castiel Novak thrust himself dry. Despite being threw, it was still arousing how Castiel let himself off, still gripping tight as Dean felt it all let go inside him. Filling him to a point that he'd never experienced before – because Dean had never been on the receiving end prior to that moment.

And as that deep pumping slowly began to wane, to come to a close, he finally allowed his legs to give in. Collapsing forward, he felt Castiel leave his body as he fell forward onto the toilet seat. Legs still spread and shaking, he registered his body adjusting to being his own again, the man behind him backing up into the sink and holding its edge if only to steady himself.

For a moment, their breathing was all that echoed around the room, Dean aware of the thick wetness slicking down his lower end and honestly not caring. Perhaps that was an analysis better served when he was sober. As of then, it was enough to simply enjoy it all, everything about what they'd done, and let himself wind down.

Allow them both to catch their breath.

Castiel, finally managing to slip some semblance of logic into his wavering thoughts, opened his eyes, his arms somewhat numb as they held him up against the sink. He blinked down at the other man still sitting in front of him, the trashiness of what they'd just done momentarily making its way into his brain.

Half dressed, he's just fucked Dean Winchester up the ass above a fluffy, pink toilet at a high school party.

Classy.

And not what he'd thought he'd be doing when he'd agreed to come.

Soon however, despite how his high fuzzied everything, Castiel was registering outside noise again. Namely, voices. Somehow, he managed to reach the conclusion that, seeing as they were in a bathroom, they were bound to be interrupted eventually. And when they both left at the same time, well, that could be potentially awkward.

Closing his eyes in a last attempt to steady himself, which really didn't go over that well, Castiel forced himself into standing fully. Swaying on his feet only momentarily, he stepped forward, reaching out to Dean and laying a hand on his leather-clad shoulder.

"We should get out of here," he muttered, the other man turning his head to listen. "Before someone comes and finds us."

"Uh, yeah, right," Dean breathed out weakly. Leaning up, he looked around, attempting to locate the toilet paper. Yet as he found the roll, he was forced to pause in frustration. "Are you fucking shitting me?" he hissed, pulling his leg around so he was over the side of the toilet seat. "There's no fucking paper?" He spun the empty cardboard.

"Why?"

"Because!" Dean whipped around to glare. "I've got _you_ all up me," he gestured to him. "It's not like I want that running down my legs all night." Because he'd never had to deal with this side of the equation before. "Are there any towels?"

"No," Castiel verified as he looked around. "Just the rug." And the toilet seat cover, neither of which Dean was too intent on rubbing up himself in order to wipe away their mess.

Able to see that this was beginning to distress him, and finally capable of being a little more sensitive to the fact that this had been, really, Dean's "first" time, Castiel reached down into his discarded slacks and retrieved his briefs.

"Wear these," he offered. "It'll, you know, keep what's up there, up there." Dean didn't look pleased. "Unless you have a better solution."

He didn't.

Taking the briefs, Dean stood and began to slip them on, Castiel bending down and taking Dean's boxers in exchange. Soon snapping their pants back into place and slipping on their shoes, they were fully dressed, Dean perhaps a little more uncomfortable than he would have liked. But he _had_ just allowed another guy to shove his dick up his ass, so maybe that was only expected.

"Well," he turned to Castiel, still quite drunk, "that was fun."

"Yeah," Castiel scoffed a chuckle.

"Fun that… no one needs to know about."

"Right," Castiel nodded.

"Glad we're on the same page there…" Dean replied, his tone a little softer as his eyes focused down on the floor. "We'll just… forget it ever happened."

"Sure, if that's what you want," Castiel gave in, his eyebrows furrowing as he surveyed Dean critically. He could see some kind of concern on the other man's face however, and almost reached out in an attempt to comfort whatever it was that was bothering him. But as his hand came up, he heard a loud bout of laughter outside.

"We should go," Dean nodded. Having little choice but to agree – seeing as he'd brought it up in the first place – Castiel nodded, reaching out and taking hold of the doorknob. With Dean tugging off the light, they pushed their way out, thankful there was no one in the immediate vicinity. Creeping out in the darkness, they saw that there were some people laughing around the couches, but that they were so far gone they'd hardly notice the two men in the shadows.

"Uh, so, yeah," Dean turned to Castiel. "Er, thanks," he laid a hand awkwardly on his shoulder. Like some kind of masculine-man gesture. "See ya 'round."

"Right," Castiel nodded, Dean's hand still sitting heavily on his shoulder. Eyes darting around uncomfortably, Dean eventually took a deep breath and, pulling a forced smile onto his lips, backed away. Turning, he headed off toward the stairs, Castiel left to stare, mystified, as he disappeared.

That had been one of the most awkward after-sex partings he'd ever experienced.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **OMG Sex in the first chapter. Sorry I'm not sorry. If it's not your style, oh well I guess. If you want lots of cute build up, might I offer up my other Destiel story, Tipping the Hourglass. It might be more to your style. Not to say this story won't have build up, it will, but it'll be in a different way. I'm trying to do something new with this story. I wanted to write something really raw, and dirty, and gritty. This story is very much about sexuality, and experimentation, and learning to accept who you are against what society thinks you should be. Now, granted, Dean and Cas have basically had a one-night stand at this point, but that doesn't mean things are going to be easy sailing (quite the opposite actually). I'm hoping most of you got the tension at the end, and I assure you that there's still plenty to follow between these two. They're not even close to being together, and there's still plenty of badboy Dean to come. It might not have shown its face in this chapter, but a person's sexual tastes don't define who they are. I like the idea of Castiel being the more sexually aggressive one. For all Dean's badassery, he's always so, er, tender in his sex scenes? I dunno, anyway, yeah, story, chapter one. Bam.

Let me know what you thought.

Hey! Follow my Tumblr - DemonDogDean


	2. The Wrong Thing

**Dust in the Wind**

"_Thunder only happens when it's raining__  
><em>_Players only love you when they're playing__  
><em>_Say... Women... they will come and they will go__  
><em>_When the rain washes you clean... you'll know"_

_**Dreams – Fleetwood Mac**_

**Chapter 2: The Wrong Thing**

"Okay, you know what, there are some things I can handle and some that I just can't!" Garth was shouting as he clamored his way up the stairs. He came busting up into the entranceway, kicking red cups and trash out of the way as he stomped into the living room. Dean was just waking up, his mouth pulled tight in discomfort as he tried to rearrange himself on the couch.

What he really needed was a shower.

"This is my house, ya know?!" he was fuming, Dean a little sensitive to the way he was yelling. He wasn't the only one however. Jo looked like she wanted to kill the little runt and Charlie was pulling a blanket back over her head. Benny was refusing to show his face at all, still buried under covers on the floor. "I throw a party and I expect a mess. I can deal with spilled beer, and people puking. That's supposed to happen. I can even handle someone peeing in my sink, but this?!"

"What Garth?" Jo asked, tone dead.

"Some asshole jizzed all over my fuckin' toilet!"

Dean felt his heart stop in his chest. Beside him on the floor, Jo was trying to hide a snicker, which reminded him that he should try to act amused too. Clearing his throat, he feigned that he was attempting not to laugh.

"It's all over the tank and cover. That's my mom's cover man! And some asshat fuckin' masturbated all over it!"

Dean really had no idea what to say.

"Asshole could have at least lifted the seat! What the fuck?! _Man_!"

Jo couldn't hold it in anymore, she was laughing, Charlie poking her head back out to start giggling as well. Even Benny's lump of blankets were shuddering, Dean kicking himself mentally and releasing a forced chuckle.

Clearly distressed, Garth turned and dragged his feet back down the stairs. Probably to clean up. Part of Dean wanted to apologize, but knew he couldn't. After all, what would he say? "Sorry, it's my fault. I had a dick up my ass at the time and might have lost control." Yeah, _that'd_ go over well. He wasn't usually one to regret drunken escapades, but the night before was quickly crashing and burning as far as that philosophy.

"You okay?" Jo was looking up at him with concerned eyes, apparently noticing the way his mood was dropping.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he assured, forcing a smile. "Hangover's hittin' me hard is all." Which was, perhaps, one way to put it. And Jo, reaching up and patting his knee sympathetically, frowned before turning away and standing.

"I'll go to the kitchen and whip you up some cure-all," she offered generously.

"Oh, don't do that," Dean caught her, causing her to furrow her brows at him. "I kinda just wanna go home, so…"

"Oh, okay," she was frowning again, a kind of curiosity rooted behind her concern. Because it wasn't every day that Dean refused food. Especially with a hangover. Dean loved food when he was hung over (he loved food anytime).

"Oh, sweet, I'll go with you," Charlie threw her blanket away. "I left my poptarts at your place and-"

"Actually Charlie, I kind of want to be by myself. Just for a little while," Dean interrupted, Benny finally looking up as well, all three of them worried. "I just want to clean up and… stuff." He stood finally, hyperaware of the briefs beneath his jeans and how they stuck rather uncomfortably up certain parts of his body. "I'll, uh, I'll call you guys later," he assured lastly before stepping around the couch. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, he didn't look back as he headed to the door. Pulling it open, he allowed the chilly morning air to hit him sober before he clamored down the stairs. There were cups and cigarette butts littered all over the lawn, deep ruts dug where someone had spun their tires. Dean's car, however, was parked in the drive, behind Garth's, and was the only one to have been otherwise parked so. Safe and out of the way, as it should be.

Shining black beneath the morning sun, Dean took far less comfort than usual at the sight of his baby. The '67 Impala had always had a way of calming his nerves, but even that wasn't quite enough to allow him to gather his grip on that particular morning. Rather, pulling his keys from his jacket pocket, he unlocked the impala before dropping himself down into the driver's seat. Snapping the door closed behind, he sat back, gaze falling out of focus as he stared at the steering wheel.

Yes, he was having a little bit of trouble with this whole thing. Not the whole attracted to guys things – he'd known about that for a few years – but everything else. Though he'd found himself liking men about as often as women, he'd never acted on it. And had he considered doing so, he'd never thought he'd end up in the… position that he had.

Or that he'd…

No, he wasn't ready to think about it. Shoving his keys into the Impala ignition, he backed it up out of the drive and headed on down the road. He had to pick Sammy up from Kevin's; that was something to focus on.

Maybe.

Had the night before _really_ happened? Well, obviously it had "happened," but he was thinking more so of his feelings on the matter. Yet as he resituated himself in his seat, he was reminded all over again of why he was wearing Castiel Novak's briefs, which only kept bringing him back to the moments he was trying to avoid. Back to how he'd willing just taken it, had pushed his doubts away and let some other man do him that way. And that he'd…

He'd _liked_ it.

That was probably the worst part of it to swallow. He'd bent over and enjoyed it. What did that even mean? Not that he had anything against, well, guys who liked it "that way," but he'd never pegged himself as one of them. Dean Winchester was the ultimate lady's man, the masculine ideal, a man's man. He did the "putting in," not the receiving.

Not until the night before anyway.

Sinking some in his seat as he came to a stop at a red light, Dean tried to grapple with some sort of logic that would defend what he'd done, or excuse it. The first thing that tried to jump into his brain was the fact that he'd been drunk. Naturally that must have had something to do with it. Yet even as he tried to convince himself, he knew he was lying. He'd been drunk many times and knew his limits. And though he'd been pretty wasted the night before, he wouldn't have done anything he hadn't want to do. Besides, it wasn't like he was waking up the next day with no memory. He remembered the words they'd shared, how his stomach had jumped in excitement.

No, drunkenness wasn't an excuse.

Well, he'd been experimenting. That wasn't a total lie. He'd found Novak back in that room with full intentions of starting something. It just hadn't ended up as he'd anticipated. Experimentation, however, didn't excuse it. Because he'd still enjoyed the whole thing. Even as he pulled into the suburban neighborhood where Kevin lived, his stomach was twisting upon recollecting. How his body had opened up like that, pulling someone else in. The fullness and the friction.

Dammit, there was no way getting around it. He liked it. He really had.

No. It was done. He nodded to himself, as if to reaffirm the sentiment as he pulled into Kevin's driveway. Never again. Whatever it was that had spurred him to accept Cas like that was gone, over. He'd gotten it out of his system.

Right?

"Hey Dean," Sammy said through the downed window as he bounced out of the Tran house and came around to the passenger side of the car. Pulling the door open, his youthful, fourteen-year-old face pulled into a frown, his gaze surveying the backseat before he sat down. "You're alone," he mentioned.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, becoming aware that it was apparently rare that he not be carrying passengers. "Rough night. Wanted some time to myself." Sam, his shaggy hair crowding his pointed features, cocked an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Rather, Dean continued before he could. "How was the study session with Kev?"

"Oh fine," Sam replied, looking out the window as the Impala headed back out onto the road. "He needed help on some of the AP English stuff though, and I'm no good at it, so we had to call Jessica to come help." A pretty blonde girl around Sam's age that lived in Kevin's neighborhood.

"Ohhh, Jessica," Dean teased, glad to get his mind onto another subject. "Doin' 'English' together. Sounds kinky." Dean waggled his eyebrows.

"You're an infant," Sam replied, rolling his eyes before grinning. "But yeah, she sure is pretty." Dean laughed, reaching over and ruffling Sam's hair as they headed back toward the south side.

"Growin' up so fast," he sniffed dramatically.

"Damn straight," Sam agreed. "I think I have grown again, by the way." He frowned, looking almost guilty as he peered up at his brother. "My pants are sitting above my shoes."

"Guess we'll have to get you some more," Dean nodded. "Not to worry. No brother of mine is gonna go to school looking like a nerd in jeans that are too short." He smiled, his mind working against the numbers as he estimated how much it would cost to buy Sam a few new pairs of jeans based on his paycheck from the previous Friday. Rent wasn't due for two weeks yet, so it shouldn't be too impossible.

"We should get them a few sizes bigger," Sam offered. "So I don't grow out of them so fast…"

"Don't worry about that," Dean waved him off. "Money's not an issue." Sam knew better, but he decided to drop the subject. As Dean would expect.

"You heard anything from Dad?" the kid's voice darkened considerably.

"Nah," Dean shook his head, realizing Sam was only asking because their father was known for rolling in on the weekends. It'd been three weeks since he'd been home last, out "hunting." Him being gone for weeks, months, at a time wasn't unheard of however, so neither boy worried much over it.

"So… are you still dating _Cassie_?"

Dean nearly jumped at the name, or the first part of it anyway.

"Cassie? No," Dean shook his head. "Cassie and I broke up before the party yesterday." Not that they'd had much of a "relationship" to begin with. Dean wasn't one for commitment. It was more like him and Cassie had been having a few weeks of fun together (with Dean having a little _more_ fun on the side), and then she'd begun to get peevish at his gallivanting ways, so he'd dropped her. Respectfully of course. Sure Dean had an active personal life, but he wasn't a dick.

Just used his regularly.

He nearly grinned at his own joke, but any congratulations at his own cleverness came to a halt when the night before flashed through his head again. Yeah, not much in the way of action on his side then.

A scowl broke out across his face instead.

"I'm glad," Sam continued, unaware of his brother's expression. "I didn't like her."

"Why?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Didn't seem like your type is all."

"And what is my type?" Dean really was curious.

"Mmm, someone who doesn't put up with your crap," was the decisive response, Dean baulking some at how certain he sounded. "Oh don't act surprised. I know how you are. Cassie did too, and she didn't say anything about it. Someone who really cares about you would make you stop."

"No one can stop me," Dean did grin then.

"Someday Dean, someday," Sam shook his head, "you'll meet someone who won't put up with it."

"Then I'll break up with them too."

"And you'll lose the best of you."

Dean looked over at him, surprised at his words. For a kid, Sam sure could be deep sometimes. It was rather unnerving actually. On occasion. Not like Sam was a creepy kid or something, but sometimes Dean did wonder if he didn't have some kind of freaky sixth sense. Psychic or something.

"Right," Dean was pulling the car down around the drive leading into their trailer park. "Nothin' wrong with how I do what I do." Confidence he spoke through his teeth.

"That's debatable."

"You're a little bitch, you know that?" Dean reached out and pinched him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Jerk!" Sam punched him on the shoulder. "Just because I'm not afraid to tell you how it is." He sounded so grumpy about it, and so entirely elitist, that Dean had to laugh. Which only dropped Sam's expression more. And so, as the Impala pulled into the drive beside their trailer, he exited in a huff.

Dean left at a slower pace, his amusement lasting only as long as it took for the briefs beneath his jeans to rub against his skin. Abruptly uncomfortable again, he slammed his car door shut, looked around as if someone would be able to tell what he'd done, and hunkered inside after his brother.

The trailer wasn't top of the line by any means. It wasn't on wheels, strictly speaking, which was up from some of the places they'd stayed, and the paint was chipping off the sideboards. Grass grew up between cracked asphalt in the drive, and Dean was constantly climbing up on the roof to staple shingles back down when it got a little windy. Cheap, water stained curtains hung in the windows, but seeing as rain leaked in more often than it didn't, Dean wasn't too intent on replacing them (it didn't seem to matter how many times he resealed the damn things).

The inside was a little better off, mostly due to Dean's efforts. He'd been working at Bobby's shop since he was thirteen, which was when he'd started looking for the place. The trailer, that was. Being as young as he'd been, he'd had to find an underhanded deal. Someone to rent him the place without any law involved. Dean had been pretty good at pretending he was older than he really was and had convinced the old lady who owned the trailer that he was sixteen. It'd all been worth it, working a full-time job (also under the counter thanks to Bobby) since then. Mostly because it meant Sammy had a home. No matter how decrepit. It was better than the motels their father had left them in. Or, when money ran out, having to live in the Impala.

That'd been back in the old days. Before Dean had made the decision to find a better place to live. Shortly after – on his fifteenth birthday – he'd managed to save enough to buy the Impala off his dad. Wave enough money in front of his face and he gave it up. Sentimental value to Dean. Thus, at eighteen he had a nice car, a place to sleep, and his little brother had a roof over his head and food on the table.

Not too bad as far as Dean's experience had taught him.

He still remembered the first time he'd walked into the trailer however. It'd been neglected and dirty. To the point where he'd had to keep Sam in the Impala until he'd deemed it safe. The bathroom had been suspiciously stained yellow and green, mold had been growing in the corners, the carpet – which he'd thought was brown – had actually been tan, and there'd been left over everything from the previous tenants. A weekend of TLC later though and he'd been moving a nine year old Sammy into the only home he could remember.

It'd been one of the happiest days of his life.

So yes, the trailer was worn and required work here and there, but it was the best Dean had ever had, so he refused to complain. Rather, walking in, he kicked his boots off before stacking them neatly against the wall and walking up the single step into the living room. The couches had some stains, but they were clean and comfy. The television was set up in the corner along the bar. To the right was the kitchen, where the dishes were clean and out of sight. Dean hated having food lying around. Called ants like crazy. And beyond that, on one end, was his room. Sam's room and the bathroom were on the other, which Dean initially hadn't allowed.

For three years after they'd moved in, they'd shared a room. Dean hadn't been comfortable with Sam alone on the other side of the trailer and Sam had never slept without Dean right beside him before. It wasn't until Sam had started needing his own space that he'd decided to move into the other room. Dean hadn't stopped him, but it'd taken him a considerable amount longer to start reinventing his own space.

Aside from the furniture, their Christmas tree, lights, and few decorations were still up. Dean supposed he should probably take them down, but it was hardly priority one on his list. Instead, he headed to their small bathroom.

"Sam," he said, barley having to raise his voice to reach his brother in his bedroom through the thin walls. "I'm going to jump in the shower and then put some lunch together. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, distracted. Nodding more to himself than anyone, Dean headed into the bathroom, making sure the door was closed and locked behind him.

It wasn't huge, but there was a tub on one side and a sink and toilet on the other. He had his stuff organized neatly on one corner of the counter and Sam had his on the other. Because if Dean did anything, he made sure to run a tight ship. Everything had its proper place. Besides, he hated messes.

Two reasons that were probably, also, contributing to his unease over the night before.

Staring at himself momentarily in the mirror, he pursed his lips before turning to the shower. Turning it on so as to give it time to warm, he began to slip off his clothes –jacket, t-shirt, jeans – until he was standing there in only those navy colored briefs. Briefs that had been all over some other dude's junk. Not that it mattered. He was far too familiar with said junk as well.

Finally slipping the briefs off, he ignored how they peeled away before jumping in the shower. With the curtain pulled closed and the water beating down, he was feeling far more secure. He wasn't open and exposed, or doing any kind of walk of shame. But, despite how he closed his eyes, leaned is forehead against the wall, and tried to keep his breathing calm, he couldn't ignore the soreness to his backdoor, or forget what it was like to let everything go with Castiel Novak standing right behind him.

He recalled those blue eyes, how deep they'd been, and how steady despite the fact that they'd both been in deteriorated states. And how those full lips had moved on his, their slight sprinklings of evening facial hair scraping together.

He'd never really noticed Castiel Novak prior to the morning before, at the shop. Sure he'd known who the guy was, that he'd brought in championships for the swim team and tended to remain on the quieter side of the social spectrum. But now he couldn't get him out of his head. He hardly knew the guy, but the harder he tried to push it all away, the bigger Castiel seemed to become in his mind. Until it was all those eyes and those lips and those hands up and down his body. The water was the heat and the droplets every sensation of skin on skin.

There was nothing between them, not like the night before. No jackets, no drugs, just Dean leaning up against the shower wall with Cas's breath in his ear. No words, not that Dean could hear, and he felt those long fingers running down his back, along his spine. Slowly, deliberately, Dean knowing full well where they were headed and having no strength to prevent it. Instead, his own hands slicking down across his chest, he closed his eyes against the blood pumping down between his legs.

It was too late, he was already on point, and as one hand folded around his own desire, the other crept down between is thighs.

Cas's shadow was heavy behind him, pressing him up against the tile as he dared to touch himself in ways he'd always thought himself too above before. But the night previously weighed on his mind and the sensation of Cas's experienced hand reaching up inside him inspired his own actions, his mouth falling open as he pumped himself against the feeling. As he pushed his hand back, his finger entering up into places it hadn't ever been before.

He took heavy breaths, trying to mimic how Cas had stroked him, reached up in him. As if with expert knowledge of how Dean wanted it and where. Despite how he begged for it however, Cas wasn't with him. The sweat was water, he was alone, and though he tried he couldn't press far enough, reach inside well enough, to accomplish what Cas had the night before. Instead, his other hand pumping more furiously, he scowled against his own desperate frustration.

It wasn't like the night before; he didn't reach that high. Instead, like a deflated balloon, the air rushed out of him, his hands coming up to lie flat on either side of his head as he rolled his temple into the wall. It was almost painful, how empty and unfulfilled he felt. Like the fastest case of blue-balls he'd ever contracted. And Dean very rarely dealt with such afflictions. Because, usually, if such a thing hit him, he remedied it as soon as possible.

It wouldn't matter how many women he brought to bed however, it wasn't going to fix this. And for a moment, as if delirious with desire, he considered any other way he might go about solving the problem as quickly as possible. Someone had to be willing to do it. He knew he was an attractive young man, so if he just went to the right places, then he'd be satisfied.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes popped open and logic began to seep back into his skull. Logic spurred by paranoid fear. Because if he did go out of his way to get what he needed, then he'd have to advertise. There was a chance someone would find out, would realize his newfound secret. That, and even as he wanted it, he was also aware of the distant soreness still echoing up his body. Because for all of Cas's pushiness and straightforward intents, he'd been steady. Dean wouldn't say gentle, but smooth in how he'd handled everything. Dean wasn't stupid; he knew not everyone would be like that. And the thought of putting himself in a position to be invaded in ways beyond what he wanted fully sobered him.

It didn't take away the ache however, his frustration growing worse by the second. Because he wasn't coming to any feasible solutions. That, and the more he realized how much he wanted it, the more ashamed he was of the fact.

How had one night changed his perceptions so drastically?

What was he supposed to do?

No answers came however, which spurred him to wash up and drag himself from the shower. With a towel wrapped around his waist, his gathered his clothes and headed out across the trailer to his bedroom. Tossing everything but his leather jacket into his basket for the laundromat, he tried to focus on other things. On Sam and his needed jean purchase, and what he was going to make for lunch. But it was all like a mask, simply trying to hide where all his attention really was, which made him seem distracted and low as he got dressed and headed out into the kitchen to begin their meal.

"So…" Sam eventually ended up at their small table by the window, familiar enough with his older brother to know that his hunched posture and tight expression spelled out that something was quite wrong. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," Dean lied, not looking up from where he was stirring the macaroni on the stove. Sam didn't need to hear about his sexual escapades after all, especially with other men.

"Dean," Sam persisted. "C'mon, I'm not a kid anymore. What's-"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door and someone slowly peeking in. Both Dean and Sam looking over, they saw Charlie's long red hair hanging in through the crack, her big, questioning eyes looking almost fearful.

"I came for my poptarts…" she muttered.

Dean's shoulders dropped, his defensive demeanor fading some. "C'min Charlie," he beckoned with his head. "We're just having lunch. You're welcome to join." Usually Dean didn't have to give such invitations. Whoever happened to be "lucky" enough to be once welcomed into his home was generally afterward given open invitation. That Charlie had even asked to enter, and that Dean had had to _invite_ her to lunch, just went on to show how out of sorts he'd been that morning.

"Okay…" she said almost hesitantly as she came in, slipping her shoes off as she knew Dean expected before padding across the living room to join Sam at the table. She exchanged a curious look with the younger Winchester once Dean's back was turned again, but all he could do was shrug.

"Did Garth get his place cleaned up?" Dean asked a second later, trying his best to come off as he typically would while he reached up into his cabinet and pulled down three cheap, plastic bowls.

"Most of the trash and stuff, yeah," Charlie nodded, her good-humor overtaking her curiosity for the moment. "He was complaining about the ruts in the yard though, but I don't really know why. It's not like his mom is going to even notice." Garth lived alone with his mother, his father having walked out years before. The older woman was a bit of a pain killer addict though, and tended to be either out (as she had been the night before) or passed out on the couch.

"I'd be pissed if someone left ruts in my yard," Dean defended.

"We don't have a yard." Sam.

"If we did."

"Anyway, he was going to shovel those in when we left. Jo and Benny were going over to help Ellen with moving some of their old furniture, so I came over here." To get her poptarts, presumably.

"Do they need more help?" Dean asked, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the other two.

"I don't think so. Jo didn't seem too worried about it." Ellen was Jo's mother. Like Garth's situation, it was just the two of them, only Ellen was more stand up about raising her kid. Dean knew her pretty well, as did Sam, and she was kind of like the mother hen of their posse. Charlie's parents were dead, so Ellen had taken her in. And Benny preferred to stay away from his father seeing as he was an alcoholic and not too friendly about it. They were a group of misfits from broken families, having found each other in all the wreckage.

"Well, I guess if they need help, they'll just call," Dean determined with a shrug, shoveling macaroni into three bowls before bringing them to the table. He placed some fish-sticks he's had in the oven down in the center, Sam reaching out for one before the plate had even hit the tabletop.

"You know, it's funny," Charlie started after a moment, once Dean had sat down. "Garth complains every time he throws a party, but before we left, he was talking about another one for New Years," she clicked her tongue. "That's only, like, two days away."

"That's Garth I guess," Dean shrugged, trying his best to be interested in the food and finding it incredibly disconcerting that he wasn't. "Forgive and forget before it's even over." That was practically Garth's motto. Sure he could get angry, but it never lasted. And he never tried to hurt anyone. Guy was like an invincible shield against nastiness. Always trying to stay on the brighter side of things.

"So yeah, I guess we have another party to go to," Charlie shrugged.

"I guess that means I should find a way to be at Kevin's again," Sam deadpanned.

"I don't have to go," Dean shrugged. "But yeah, you know the rules." Sam wasn't allowed to stay home alone all night, not in their neighborhood. Which he objected to regularly, but Dean would only worry if he wasn't with someone.

"Kevin and I have an essay we need to finish before break is over anyway," Sam shrugged, Charlie beaming over at him.

"Look at you," she ruffled his hair, something everyone loved to do to the mop head. "Have your priorities lined up and everything."

"Somebody should," Sam snapped as he shoved her hand away, before then looking pointedly at Dean. His older brother didn't reply however, instead feigning an oblivious look that caused Sam to purse his lips in disapproval.

"Dean's got his own priorities," Charlie winked at him, mostly because they could relate on the subject. "They just tend to involve women where yours involve books." Dean almost choked on his macaroni, feeling even more disinterested in it by the second. His coughing drew the concern of the other two, Dean taking a deep breath once it was over before he shoved his nearly full bowl across the table.

"I'm not very hungry," he decided, the fact that he then rose to his feet without even bothering to put his food away dropping layer upon layer of further concern atop the other two. It wasn't until they heard the door to his bedroom click closed that they looked to one another.

"Did something happen last night?" Sam asked quietly, jumping on the subject as soon as he could. "He won't tell me anything."

"I have no idea," Charlie shrugged. "He's been acting weird all morning, but no one has a clue."

Sam was visibly distressed, which in turn did the same to Charlie.

"I'll go talk to him," she decided after a moment. "Don't worry," she smiled down at Sam as she stood. "I'm sure it's nothing." He didn't look convinced.

Not that Charlie was wholly convinced herself. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself into determination as she marched from the kitchen down the short hall to the doorway leading into Dean's room. Raising her hand, she considered knocking, but then shook her head and forcefully pushed her way inside.

Dean was sitting on his bed, his head whipping around to face her as she entered.

"What?"

She didn't answer him right away, instead closing the door and coming to sit beside him. He was obviously suspicious, which only made it all the more obvious that he was hiding something.

"What is it Dean?" she asked straight out. "You're acting really strange." She frowned, not pleased when he actively looked away, as if to avoid her stare. "Dean…"

"Nothing's wrong," he persisted. "I'm just tired, okay?"

"Dean, I'm not stupid," Charlie slammed her hands to her hips, already fed-up with his attitude. "Maybe Jo lets you get away with this beating-around-the-bush crap, but you know perfectly well that I won't put up with it. Now tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want to talk about it," he made clear. "I'm dealing with it and-"

"Dean!" she sounded scolding. "We're family, right? Just tell me!"

"Charlie, no!" She really could be pushy sometimes.

"Dean Samuel Winchester!"

"That is _not_ my middle name."

"That's because you won't tell anyone your middle name," she fumed. "So I had to make one up!" And she'd been _so_ creative about it. "Dean, I'm serious. C'mon, if there's anyone who you can talk to, you know it's me. You're the first person I told when I came out because I knew I could trust you. You can do the same with me." Perhaps, had she not been so irritated, she'd have noticed how her example brought a flush of redness to Dean's face. Because she'd hit far too close to home.

But she did have a point. When she'd come out of the closet, he'd been the first person she told. Even ahead of Jo and the two lived together. Dean hadn't divulged _his_ fluctuating sexuality to a single soul (except Castiel Novak he supposed), and hadn't had any intention of doing so. But maybe Charlie could help. Maybe she'd have some kind of helpful advice.

Or maybe he was just desperate.

"You can't tell anyone Charlie," he muttered finally, her attitude simmering immediately. He wasn't the type to usually talk about feelings and personal shit, but this was too big. To overwhelming. Like it was waiting to boil over. If he didn't direct the flow, he was afraid it'd end up bursting out at all the wrongs times. "Not Jo, not Benny, not Garth. Not Sam. No one." He looked her in the eyes, thankful at the understanding trust he saw there.

She'd given him the same regulations when she'd come out to him.

"Of course Dean," she nodded. "It's just you and me."

Looking away, Dean fell silent as he tried to formulate his words. Figure out the best way to say it with the least amount of embarrassment. As he pondered the notion however, it quickly became clear that there was no graceful way to get this across. It was what it was, no sugar to be added.

Gulping, he looked back to Charlie, butterflies let loose in his stomach.

"Um," he closed his eyes for a moment, biting his bottom lip. "I, uh, I might be… I am… I'm…" His shoulders sank. "I'm… bisexual."

She blinked, a few seconds passing while his words sank in.

And then she smiled. "Is that what this is about?" she looked far too relaxed. "Dean, it's okay," she reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"That's not all," he continued, aware that he'd only just gotten done with the easy part. "I hooked up with a guy last night." This took her slightly by surprise, her eyebrows rising a bit.

"Hooked up? Like… how 'hooked?'"

"Like I had sex with a dude," he hissed, trying to keep his voice calm.

"O-Okay," Charlie nodded, digesting as fast as she could. "It's… it's okay Dean." Her shoulder pat became one of real comfort. "There's nothing wrong with that so long as you both… enjoyed it. Did you?"

"That's the problem," he muttered. "We were… you know… making out and shit and then things got heavy and I –" he closed his eyes, unable to hide his shame and humiliation. "I let him… do me."

"Do you?" Charlie narrowed her eyes.

"Yes!" he snapped. "Do me!" He held up his hands, one an 'o' and another pointed as he pushed them in and out. "Do. Me."

"Oh!" Charlie's eyes widened. "Wow, really? You?" She hadn't meant to sound so surprised, but, well, it _was_ surprising.

Dean was not amused.

"I'm sorry, I just would have pegged you for a top is all," she waved her hands in front of her face, as if to ward off his glare.

"Yeah, me too…"

"Well, you don't sound too happy about it. Did you _not_ like it then?" She paused, suddenly looking horrified. "He didn't force you, did he?" Abruptly she was protective, as if she was going to go hunt this guy down and beat the shit out of him.

"Really," Dean deadpanned. "Force? Me?"

"It happens!"

"No, he didn't force me," he admitted. "I… wanted him to do it." Charlie nodded, invested in the conversation once again. "And that's the whole problem. I let some guy 'do me' and I wanted every second of it." His focus fell to the carpet. "I _liked_ it Charlie," he admitted. "And now all I can think about is… doing it again."

"And that's bad?"

"Yeah!" he nodded. "Don't you get how- how… _unmanly_ this is?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Don't you get it? I like that he…" He couldn't even say it, instead having to gesture at nothing like that would get the point across.

"Dean, just because you like it up the butt doesn't mean you're not a man," she said straight, Dean rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration and embarrassment. "Just means you like a variety of stuff. Gender's all subjective anyway," she started on her new-age point of view. "Having a dick doesn't make you somehow more masculine, and neither does liking dick, or wherever you like to _have_ that dick." She shrugged. "It doesn't _mean_ anything."

He didn't appear at all reassured.

"Look at it this way," she scooted a little closer to him. "Most of the time I like to 'give it,' but that doesn't make me any less of a woman." He glanced up at her, clearly not sure what to think. "It's all just body parts Dean," she huffed, but in an encouraging way. "It doesn't matter where you put them just so long as everybody involved is having a good time. Besides, so what if you like it?" she shrugged. "Nobody but you and whoever you're doin' it with has to know. Let your freak flag fly baby!" She didn't tell him that what he'd done wasn't that big a deal, that tons of people did it. He was clearly having some kind of mental cacophony over the whole thing, so she'd be extra supportive.

That didn't mean she wasn't surprised, but she'd keep that to herself.

"Everything is so easy for you," he scoffed.

"Hardly," she smacked him lightly on the arm, becoming abruptly serious. "I've just learned not to care." A shrug. "C'mon, you're Dean-fricken' Winchester! Nobody messes with you and when they do, they get what's comin' to 'em." She smiled, thankful to see a small glint of amusement flash momentarily across his face. "So you like dick? So what? Plenty of other… weird, disgusting people do too." Her face contorted some, what with her finding the entire organ itself rather gross, and Dean actually laughed. "Own it man. Because if you do that, then nothing else matters."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean agreed, feeling relatively calm for the first time since he'd woken up. "I still think I'm gonna keep it to myself for a while though." He cringed.

"Hey man, like I said, just you and me here." Curiosity twitched across her face. "Who'd you sleep with?"

"Ah, well, I told him I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Really," Charlie wasn't impressed. "C'mon, you know I'm not going to tell." He did know that. Charlie was an excellent secret keeper. Unlike Garth. And Jo on occasion. "Did you know him? Do _I_ know him? Who's the secret gay? Unless it's someone I know is gay…"

"First off," he held up a finger, "_I'm_ not gay. I'm bi." Just so they were clear. They'd checked out chicks together plenty of times. "And secondly, I don't know if you know him. I mean, you know _of_ him, but he doesn't exactly run in our crowd. He's of a 'higher class,'" Dean was practically mocking the notion.

And a light bulb went off in Charlie's head. "You and Castiel Novak bumped uglies?"

"What?" Dean blinked wide. "How'd you know it was him?"

"Well, we were at one of Garth's parties. No one there is usually of a 'higher class,'" she made the air quotes. "Until Gabriel showed up. And I know he's not gay. Balthazar can't stand you. And Anna, well, chick. So that leaves Castiel." Dean nodded in approval, impressed by her attentiveness. "Plus, I've always had my suspicions about him. Never dates anyone, keeps to himself. He was screaming for some kind of skeleton."

"Hah, yeah, maybe you're right."

"Nice job though," she elbowed him in the side. "He's a cutie."

"I think _he's_ the one you should be congratulating," Dean sulked.

"Why? Because he humpty-dumptied you? Please, you had some hot swimmer workin' to please you!" She winked. "Besides, it's a totally heteronormative view that men get congratulated on sticking their dicks in things while women get shamed. Not that you're a woman," because he was apparently sensitive about it, "but the fact that you were the one being penetrated doesn't mean-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," he waved her off. "Yay, I banged a hot guy."

"Why are you still upset?" she frowned.

"I'm not, I'm just…" What was he supposed to say? That he was pining to be fucked all over again? Actually, with Charlie, that probably was what he should say. "I'm just considering the fact that it's not exactly easy to find guys around that are… interested in that."

"You wanna go again?" she laughed and slung her arm over his shoulders. "Oh Dean, look how progressive you are." He glared. "Why don't you just hook up with Castiel again? You get his number or anything?"

"No!" Dean said, sounding almost aghast. "Who do you think you're talking to? I don't ask for people's numbers, they give them to me," his ego flared. "Besides, I don't usually make a habit of dipping into the same one-night stand twice." He had the people he hooked up with and the people he pretended to date. They didn't intermix. Castiel fell into the former category.

"Well, you're gonna be hard up then," she laughed at her pun. "Because there aren't too many guys ''round these here parts' just willing to shout to the world how much they love, love, love guy bits. I mean, I know of a few guys that are out, but…" she looked him up and down, "they're not your type."

"My type?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "They're all pretty femme."

"Charlie, I like chicks."

"Yeah, but when you check out a _guy_, do you like chicks?" He didn't understand. "Castiel Novak may be quiet and standoffish, but he's not femme. He's more masculine, like you. Well, maybe a _little_ less than you. I'm assuming that's what you're interested in."

Honestly, Dean hadn't ever thought about it before, but maybe she was right. Even when it came to women, he wasn't into the whole preenie, super skinny, can't-open-a-can-on-her-own type. He liked a woman with curves, with substance. Maybe he liked dudes the same way.

"I mean, honestly Dean," she shrugged, "as far as choices, you don't have too many. And a guy like Castiel Novak? He's, like, pick of the litter. Like you." Because he knew he was attractive, as did everyone else. Even bordering some on pretty, but Charlie wasn't going to tell him that either.

"So, what, I've got one guy that I go back to every time? Sounds like some kind of sick addiction."

"Well, actually," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "us 'other' people call them boyfriends and girlfriends."

"I don't want either," Dean made perfectly clear.

"Then come to some kind of arrangement, I don't know! I mean, he can't be gettin' too much action either. Maybe you guys can be fuck-buddies or something."

Dean considered the idea.

"Like partners," she added.

"No, that's too intimate," Dean deduced. "More like… colleagues."

"Fine, whatever."

"You really think he'd go for that?"

"I dunno, but you won't know for sure till you ask."

Dean frowned, but supposed she was right.

"Ah, I'm so proud of you," she reached out then and grabbed his cheek, much to his alarm. "Baby's movin' up in the world!"

"Get off!" he smacked her away.

**oOo**

"And he's sitting there, looking like a complete idiot, when Rachel says 'yeah, maybe if you could afford it.'" They laughed, Raphael laughed (he'd told the joke in the first place), and Castiel closed his eyes, sinking down in the chair. He'd only been at the party for a little over an hour, but already it was wearing on him. So heavy, in fact, that he could practically feel the tension in his shoulders, every ounce of cackling that filtered into his ears pounds added. Until he felt so weighed down he thought maybe he'd never get up again.

It was _horrible_.

"That's just ridiculous," Luci was butting in, her voice like nails against a chalkboard – if Castiel's skull was the board. "It doesn't matter how many times they apply, they're never going to be allowed in. It's the country club, not the middleclass club." Another bout of laughter and Castiel thought he might be sick at the jarring sound of it. Combined with the heavy beats of the dance music, the flashing lights, and the overall smell of booze, marijuana, and sweat, he'd just about had it.

There was something about being there, at that party, with those people, that just created the most grating claw against his senses. He'd tried to drink it away, but it'd been to no avail. Instead, he was just nauseous as well as miserable.

Across the coffee table, on the other couch, he saw that Gabriel wasn't fairing much better. He'd gone a bit heavier on the substance abuse than Castiel, his head lolling back over the couch as he stared, almost as though he were in pain, up at the ceiling. Balthazar was beside him, headphones plugged into his ears as he played on his phone. And Anna, well, she'd gone out for air a long time ago.

"Now, I don't have anything against the middleclass," Raphael was speaking again, Castiel swearing his stomach was beginning to churn. Around him, people were shouting, jumping – he wouldn't call it dancing. Like a rave dragged in through the pearly gates to invade every crack and crevice his mind tried to keep open.

Abruptly he was standing, no one paying him any mind as he tried to look through the rushing waves of people to anywhere beyond. But like constant, interchanging gears, they shifted together perfectly, blocking any way out.

Like piranhas in a tank already closing in.

Closing his eyes against the zinging pain in his temples, Castiel pushed forward. He reached his arms out and stuck them deep inside the gears, grinding them to a halt so he could try and squeeze his way between. The flashing, multicolored lights jolted his vision, chopping up his progress, but he didn't care. Sweat pooled on his forehead, running down his neck and sending chills through his whole body. The heat pounded on him, like an artificial summer's day without any sense of a breeze.

And then the ball fell, and they were all screaming and grabbing and thrusting their way against him, the gears jostling back into life.

Eyes wide, Castiel surged forward. He grabbed the railing that led him down and around, his knees nearly buckling as he found the foyer floor. Pushing himself onward, he reached out rather aggressively, shoving those that crossed his path out of the way until he collided with the double front door. The heat was stifling, the air un-breathable, and as he reached down for the knob, he found himself fumbling, his fingers grappling with the golden contraption until he finally managed to twist it enough.

The house, the people, their grip loosened on him as he pulled the door open and slipped just barely out into the night air.

Eyes wide, the chilled evening spread the curtain wide, pulling him out of the fuzzy, draped fervor and into the open emptiness.

Stumbling forward some, he walked between the large pillars standing guard atop the porch and down onto the steps. Before him was a large, crowded drive, one that reminded him repulsively of the party going on inside. Set up in rows, parked side by side, the cars seemed to stare out at him, the familiar glare of his Mercedes pushed up into a corner, unable to escape.

It didn't matter. None of it did. He didn't need the car to get away.

He didn't _need_ anything.

Stepping to the side, past a crowd of teenagers, he rounded the lot, conscious to keep a safe distance. Instead of making his way down the drive, he detoured to the trees nearby, not even bothering to look back over his shoulder as he stepped up into the shadows.

Like entering a bubble, the looming shapes of the trees pushed back on the noise behind, keeping it at bay until all he could hear were leaves in the wind. In the breeze that darted between the trunks, waiting, crouched, at their bases for Castiel to find them before they burst out in a fit of laughter, assaulting his face and pushing his hair back against his skull. His feet, he could feel the crunching of his tennis shoes against gravel and dried grass. The stars blinked down at him through the canopy, whispering things he couldn't hear so far below.

There was a flashing ahead of him, wavering in and out of vision. Pushing through the brush, Castiel headed toward it, breathing heavy as his sweating body started to chill.

He breached the edge of the wood, his eyes carrying him down a slight bank that led out into the road. Cars' headlights were the flashing, wearing blinders as they stared straight forward, never thinking to glance around otherwise.

Holding his balance, Castiel skidded down the bank and onto the shoulder of the road. The cars passed him without notice in the darkness, tossing around their fumes and remains in heated waves as they did. It felt like it was burning his skin, Castiel taking a step back so as to diminish how much of the blow he took in. He waited. Waited until no more headlights came careening around the corner.

He stepped out into the street.

The asphalt gave off heat as he crossed it, interrupting the sound of leaves beneath his paces with the hollow, irrelevant tap of a direct gait. He didn't want to be in the road, but as he looked out at the other side, he saw the foggy yard lights of other houses. Far into the darkness, they preyed upon him, as if waiting to swallow anyone who dared enter their territory. He'd only just escaped one trap; he had no desire to enter another.

Ending up on the other side of the road, he watched as another car passed, the sound of tires wheeling by sending a scream up his spine.

He had to run. If he didn't, the bars before the houses would clap down around him. He'd be a prisoner.

Legs heaving, cracking, he tore through the fabric stitching him down, first one knee raised up and then another. It took so much effort, and he thought maybe he'd fall, enamored again by nausea. But the harder he pushed, the clearer it all became. Arms pulling him forward, hips slamming his jean-covered legs against the man-made ground, he breathed in the sharp air, his chest falling into a regular rhythm that he knew could guide him.

He kept to the shoulder, just outside the white line, but never falling too far one way or the other. If he stayed the path, if he pressed forward without committing to either, then maybe there'd be something else. Maybe he had but to run long enough. Far enough. Through enough.

He let his feet lead him.

Faster and faster, thighs pumping, calves jolting with every careening stomp against the unforgiving ground. His lips parted, his underarms dampened. His sweater was soaked through, feeling like a cold blanket keeping him alert as he sprinted. Cars passed, but they didn't see him. So close, but he was invisible. They drove by, over and over and nobody made him out. Or if they did, they didn't stop to stare. He was alone.

And it was liberating.

The trees began to thin, his muscled form reaching out longer, pulling him free of the dragging grip trying to keep him back. He fought it all, the strain of getting away strong enough to weary him. But he wasn't giving up. He wasn't going to stand by and let them wring his neck. He'd run till he fell. Till there was nothing left for them to hold and he was just air. Until his lungs breathed all of him out and he was gone.

The sky broke out above him, cloudless and without a moon. The sheer darkness was penetrating, but it was also empty. It spoke nothing and paid him no mind as he sprinted through it. Nothing to the headlights passing back and forth.

And then the darkness was gone, and there was rubber screeching, and Castiel's vision was momentarily blinded by the light. His whole body flinched, the metal bumper of a face clipping his jeans pinching him back as he veered away from the onslaught.

For a moment he was shocked, but only a moment. Because how dare this face cast their own gaze into his darkness. He growled, a noise that was feral and deep coming forth from his throat. It eventually became a yell of outrage, his steadied legs bolting him forward in violent anger as he slammed his claws down on the metal hood. The banging rang in his ears, spooking him, and the heat burned his hands. Spinning on his heel, he was darting away as quickly as he'd approached, sprinting back to the safety of the darkness.

"What the hell was that?!" Jo hissed from the backseat, the four inside the car so struck by the assault that they could feel their hearts beating up in their throats. Garth had his hand on his chest beside her, unable to find words, and Charlie followed Dean's gaze out the windshield, trailing the shadow that was striking back out into the shadows.

"Was that…?" Charlie blinked, unable to form words.

Dean however, his whole body shaking at what had nearly happened before he'd slammed on the brakes, felt a spike of adrenaline rush through him, hitting every pressure point until he was unconsciously lifting his foot. Punching the car forward, the back tires screamed, those riding passenger jumping as the moment of paused shock was thrown into motion. Whipping the Impala from where it'd been stopped just beyond an intersection, he guided it out onto the main road, his eyes scanning the shoulder.

"Dean, what the hell man, slow down!" Garth exclaimed, but Dean didn't hear him. The noise in his ears was the engine of the Impala roaring as he tore off after the animal that had run out in front of him. Eyes narrowed, it didn't take him long to catch up, his headlights shining on beating footfalls as he swerved slightly behind, onto the shoulder.

Blue eyes looked back at him, squinted and foreign, beyond recognition, and Dean found his attention drawn to them with heart freezing intensity.

The flash of that expression lasted only a second, but to Dean it'd registered in slow motion. Time had to catch up however and before he could even form some kind of reaction, that athletic figure was pouncing off the road and into the ditch.

Slamming on the brakes again, Dean only vaguely registered how his prized car skidded in the gravel beside the road before coming to a stop. Slamming the shifter into park, he shoved his door open before jumping into a run. He heard his friends yell after him, but it was only buzzing noise in comparison to the way his blood pumped in his ears.

Surging down into the ditch, he watched as the figure ahead of him vaulted over a rusted, metal fence and into the field beyond. Feet splashing through a puddle at the base of the ditch, Dean prepared himself to make the jump as well, taking hold of a wooden fence post for leverage before throwing his legs up and over.

Landing harshly on the other side, he ignored how his knees wanted to buckle upon the landing, instead using his burning calves to shove him into standing. Breaking out into a sprint, he was running through waist high grass, dried and brown due to the dehydrated Texas winter. It was hard to see, but he trailed through the patches of downed foliage ahead of him, lying flat as if cast aside by a tornadic force.

He was thankful he was in good shape. He wasn't the fastest runner, but exhaustion plagued his pursuit, and so it wasn't taking him long to catch up. Must have been running for a little while before dashing out in front of his car.

Cold air harsh against his lungs as he breathed, Dean reached out as he pushed himself forward, his fingers just barely wrapping around the arm of the man trying to get away.

The violent response he got wasn't totally unexpected.

"Get off me!" Castiel screeched as soon as Dean had a hold of him. Whipping around like a feral beast, his free hand wrapped around Dean's arm tightly, nails digging into Dean's jacket fiercely enough for him to feel.

"Calm the fuck down Cas!" Dean yelled in response, his other hand coming up to throw Castiel's harming hold off him, unintentionally then releasing the other man entirely. "What the hell?!"

"Get away from me!"

"You just ran out in front of my car!" Dean howled, aware of how Castiel paced back around as if he was going to keep running. "Hey!" Stepping quickly forward, he grabbed him by the shoulder as he was turning, whipping him back around violently. "Don't walk away from me!"

"I said don't touch me!" Castiel stepped forward, shoving Dean harshly back by the shoulders. Surprised at the assault, Dean stumbled, eyes wide.

Well now he was pissed.

"Mother fuck Cas!" He pushed him back, aware of how this was likely going to end and not really all that upset about it. Even in the dark, he could see the look in those blue eyes. "You wanna go, let's fucking go!"

His antagonizing landed him a punch to the mouth.

Cas could hit, he really could. Dean had heard the way the other man's knuckles had cracked against his lip, his head tossed back as he was thrown a pace. Back of his own hand coming up to his mouth, he felt the warmth of blood leaking there, the throbbing cut already beginning to swell.

Snarling, his fingers balled as he surged forward. Pulling back, his arm turned tight before he let it fly, knuckles landing Cas square in the eye. Dean wasn't done however. Sure Cas was strong and could throw a punch, but it was probably safe to assume he hadn't had much experience in the way of street fighting.

Grabbing him by the collar of his sweater before he could fall out of the way, Dean landed another punch to his jaw before yanking him further forward. Stumbling, Cas nearly fell, Dean using his imbalanced state to slam him hard down across the spine with his forearm, knocking him down into the grass entirely.

On his hands and knees at Dean's feet, Castiel was coughing, his eyes blurring in and out as pain throbbed across his face. Maybe it was the alcohol fading, or the fact that getting punched in the face tended to sober a person, but abruptly Castiel was blinking away the fog. His ability to make sense of the situation didn't, however, excuse his anger at what had just happened.

"Are you finished?!" Dean yelled down at him harshly, his hands raised in question. "Unless you want me to- _Ah_!"

Taking hold of his pant leg, Castiel yanked his feet out from under him. With a grunt, Dean was back first in the grass, Castiel taking advantage of his vulnerability to crawl up next to him. Hand reaching out, he grasped Dean by the throat, those green eyes going wide as he held him down.

"I told you not to touch me," he hissed dangerously, uncaring about the way his eye was swelling or his cheek was bruising. "Leave. Me. _Alone_." He was speaking through his teeth, staring down at Dean threateningly. His hold lasted only a few moments longer however. Dropping away, he was standing again, turning and headed out across the field.

Blinking, Dean's surprise was quickly overcome by outrage. Scrambling to his feet, he was going to go after Cas again, give him a piece of his mind, but the words faded on his lips as he watched the other man.

Cas wasn't running now. No, he appeared utterly calm as he walked away. His changed disposition was what caused Dean pause, his temper dropping. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw his car still sitting beside the road a considerable way off. Too far for anyone to see him or him them. The four-ways were on, but there was no one coming after. Supposing his friends had stayed behind, he turned and started after Cas again.

He watched – his eyes having adjusted to the darkness – at the way Castiel's smoother pace swished through the grass, his hand coming out beside him to trail along the tops of the grass stalks. He had to know Dean was still behind him, but he didn't say anything. He was silent, Dean furrowing is eyebrows, uncertain.

They walked on, remaining quiet for a few minutes before Dean finally found his voice.

"Dude, c'mon, what are you doing?"

"Why are you following me?" His voice had returned to that deep, calm gravel. And as his fingertips brushed just fleetingly over the dried blades, Dean found himself wanting to be the grass.

"You ran out in front of my car," Dean repeated, his voice softer than before. "And then you attacked it." He shrugged. "Can't really say it's my style to just let someone go who's so clearly lost it."

"I'm fine. You can go."

"Like I said, not really me."

Cas finally turned to look at him. "I don't need your help," he said firmly. "Leave." His heavy gaze tried to weigh between them, but very little could scare Dean Winchester off when he was determined. Rather, Cas's order merely elicited a skeptical cock of his head, arms crossing over his chest. "Why do you even care?"

It was interesting, the way he spoke. Straight, without emotion, yet Dean could see it all churning inside his expression.

"Generally speaking Cas, I make a point of helping people out when they're messed up, which you clearly are. You drunk?"

"None of your business."

"What were you running from?"

"Drug dealers."

"Oh, so you're on drugs then?" Sarcasm.

"Heroin."

"Well, we have that in common then," Dean smiled cynically. "Why don't we just shoot up together?"

"I was under the impression that we already had." His implication didn't get by Dean. "Or, rather, I shot you up." One would think his words would be dripping with spite, but they weren't. No, cold as ever, which somehow only irritated Dean more.

But it excited him too.

"You're such a flirt Cas," Dean tried to ignore the shot to his masculinity with jokes, which was kind of his go-to defense. "Please, go on." He beckoned him on with one hand.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You have no idea." He wondered if Cas realized just how honest he was being. He knew his voice had deepened some, hinting at a hidden truth, but that didn't mean the other man would pick up on it.

For a moment after that, neither one of them said anything, the ten or so feet between them thick with steaming emotions. Annoyance, anger, and maybe something else.

Until Cas sighed, his head shaking slightly as he turned and began walking again.

Dean followed.

"Go _away_!"

"Tell me why you ran your crazy ass out here?"

"It's none of your business."

"Then I guess I'll follow you till it is."

"What is your problem?!" Cas did snap a little then, whipping around to catch Dean in his sights. There was only some few feet between their noses in that moment, Dean coming to a halting stop.

"My problem?" Dean's hand went to his chest. "You. You're my problem. I thought that was probably pretty obvious."

"That's ridiculous. I don't even _know_ you Dean," his blue eyes narrowed. "We fucked once. In a bathroom. I don't think that entitles you to any information about my personal life."

Dean couldn't really argue with that.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually," he admitted, supposing there was no time like the present. He'd been going to wait till break was over to tackle the subject, but seeing as they were there. And he'd been too ashamed to simply send the guy a facebook message or something.

Cas didn't appear pleased at his admission though. Actually, it was quite the opposite.

"And this is why I don't get involved with people I go to school with," he said, finally a sense of scorn apparent in his voice. "Look, I get you have an image to uphold, alright? I'm not going to say anything to anyone, so I'd appreciate the same courtesy."

"Hold on," Dean held up his hand before the speech could continue. "I'm not talking about anything like that." If at all possible, his eyes narrowed further. "I'm totally in support of the idea of keeping this whole thing between you and me. Like you said, I've got a rep to consider."

"Then what do you want?" Still not any happier.

"Well, that's- I-" Moment of truth Dean Winchester. Time to buck up. After all, Cas had seen much worse of him. "I was wondering if you'd… be interested in doing that all… again." This clearly took Cas by surprise, his blue eyes blinking wide as he stared at Dean.

"Are you…?" he cocked his head to the side, all signs of ire replaced with curiosity. "Are you asking me out?"

"Uh," Dean fumbled with his words. "No, not exactly."

Cas didn't understand.

"I'm just asking if you'd be interested in going again. You know, like at the party." Did he have to somehow get more explicit?

Thankfully, this seemed to register in Cas's head. "You're propositioning me."

"Er, well," that was pretty much it. "Are you interested?"

More of those narrowed eyes.

"Look," Dean would take a more logical approach. "We both had fun, and, well, I know that I don't have a ton of options lined up around the corner for… that." He did have options, they were just of the female variety. "And I can't imagine you do, so, you know," he flashed his winning grin, "why not?"

"You just want to have sex," Cas caught on. "You want no strings attached."

"Something like, yeah," Dean shrugged. "Ya know, you and me, whenever."

"'Whenever?'" Cas raised his eyebrows. "As in more than once or twice?" Like a regular booty call?

"That's cool with me if you're game," Dean was still smiling, even going so far as to wink.

"Cool with… _right_," Cas was nodding, lips pursed. "Let me get this then. You basically want to recruit me for sex with you, 'whenever,' so you can score the same way. That's it."

"Sure," Dean nodded, glad he didn't have to go into any more detail.

"Wow…" Cas scoffed a little, his expression fogging over. To the point where Dean couldn't read him at all. "You know what?" he gathered his answer. "Fuck you Dean Winchester."

He was walking away again.

Dean, gaping some, grappled with the response before finally settling on being irritated. Marching forward, he felt his temper rising back up from his stomach.

"Hey!" he called after. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Are you really going to ask that?" Facing each other once again. "_Really_?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," Dean stated harshly, honestly. "Nothing wrong with a little mutual assistance." After all, it didn't have to mean anything. Dean preferred it that way. Because when things meant more, they got messy. They got complicated. They lost the shallow gleam that made them appealing in the first place.

"I don't need 'assistance,'" Cas rebuked. "Is that how you get all those girls to sleep with you? You just walk up to them and suggest you have sex on a regular basis? How many girls do you do that with?"

"Excuse me?" Dean felt his irritation spiking again. "If you hadn't noticed, I think this situation is a little bit different."

"Why? Because I'm a guy so obviously my need for casual sex must be as strong as yours? Sorry, but I'm not going to be some call girl for someone who's probably bedding anything otherwise on two legs. I don't want to catch anything."

Dean was momentarily speechless, blinking stupidly at the implied insult. Cas's initial angry reaction had taken him a little aback, but it was everything afterward that really caused him pause. Because Dean knew that there were some people that probably disapproved of his lifestyle, but generally it wasn't referenced in such a brutally graphic manner.

"Listen asshat," he eventually managed to growl out. "My lifestyle is my own and you can disagree if you want, but that doesn't mean you have to be a douchebag about it. All you had to say was 'not interested.'" Dean raised his arms in a shrugging motion.

"I'm sorry," Cas's deep voice was clearly sarcastic. "Next time someone who I've already had sex with comes up to me and addresses me like a talking penis, I'll be sure to be more civil." Dean gaped. "Because that's clearly where my value as a human being is placed. Objectifying me like some kind of sex toy."

"Wow, jump to conclusions much?"

"No Dean, I'm not," he shook his head. "I don't even know you. We're not friends, we're nothing. And you just came up to me and asked for sex. Who does that? We did it once, which any guy with respect for his partners would realize is a privilege. Do you have sex with women and then ask them to do this? I'm betting not, because that would be one of the most degrading, trashy things you could do to a person."

"Hold the fuck up, okay?!" Dean's voice was a little louder than he'd anticipated. "I just thought that since you're obviously interested in things a little outside the norm and I appreciate that, we could work something out. I don't really see what's so wrong with that."

"Of course you don't," he was bitter. "Please, continue. The flattery never ceases."

"What the hell man?"

"Like I said," there was a hint of finality in Cas's voice. "Stop following me. We're done."

He turned again, heading off across the grassy field without even a thought to look back. And Dean, oddly shocked by the whole exchange, finally stopped pursuing him. Instead, his thoughts bounced around in his skull in search of answers, yet the connections just weren't being made. He'd thought the idea had been simple enough, and if he wasn't interested, Cas could have just said no.

Not get all bent out of shape about it.

Clamping his mouth shut, he felt a wave of stubborn determination come over him. Because he didn't need Cas anyway. Fuck him, stuck up asshole.

Growling, he turned away, heading back toward his car waiting in the road.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Seems both boys are having issues. I really like Charlie. She'd be good for helping Dean get through all this. I know he's not usually the type to talk about emotional stuff, but this falls some into the physical side, so maybe he was more comfortable talking about that then, say, developing actual feelings for someone. Also, I'm a sucker for younger Sam.

Anyway, hope you're enjoying so far. Please leave **REVIEWS**! Seriously, need encouragement in a new story and it's very sad when no one leaves any. Makes me doubt it's any good (Supernatural fandom is worst at this, lol).


	3. Beggars Can Be Choosers

**Dust in the Wind**

"_Do you remember when we used to dance__  
><em>_And incidence arose from circumstance__  
><em>_One thing lead to another we were young__  
><em>_And we would scream together songs unsung"_

_**Heat of the Moment - Asia**_

**Chapter 3: Beggars Can Be Choosers**

"Oh my god Dean, it's a wonder you get anyone to sleep with you," Charlie lamented, the expression painted across her face portraying a sense of embarrassed pain on behalf of the friend who was venting to her, assuming she would have fallen in line with his own views.

"What?" he asked sharply. "What do you mean?" He was hissing, the two of them walking down the hall together. Dean had just gone about picking her and Jo up on their way in to school after break had ended, the fact that they were running a little late more of an annoyance to Jo than either of the other two. As it were, they were alone in the hall, Jo having run off in an attempt not to be late right before the bell had rung. Dean and Charlie weren't nearly so concerned.

"Because you were a royal d-bag, that's why!" Charlie stated, reaching out and smacking him hard on the arm, to which Dean glared in response. "I can't believe you did that!" It wasn't until that morning that Dean had divulged what had gone on the second night between him and Cas. He'd been too angry to talk about it prior, and Charlie had known better than to ask. It wasn't until finally realizing, plagued by blue thoughts concerning how unfulfilled he was feeling, that he realized he might see Cas again, and that maybe he should come up with a better plan.

He was getting desperate.

"I just did what we decided I should do," he said, probably more angry than he would have been were it not for his "frustration" about the whole thing.

"Yeah, in the worst way possible!" She was clearly disappointed. "Dean, the guy had obviously been through something. And then you go chasing after him like some… I don't know, knight in shining armor only to say 'oh yeah, hey, I don't want to rescue you, just bang you hot stuff.' You could have at least tried to act like a decent human being!"

"What was I supposed to do? I don't even know the guy!"

"Exactly!" Charlie rolled her eyes. "Christ, you could have at least complimented him or said how much you liked him or acted like you actually cared about him a little. Talk about conversational whiplash. Because whatever was going through his head when he _ran out into the middle of a field _was probably a little more important to him than the guy he had sex with at a party. The guy who then went chasing after him, which probably doesn't happen that often because he's _gay_ in a conservative Texas school," Dean tried to hush her to no avail, "and then you completely ruin the whole moment by asking for dick on a regular basis! Like a job!"

"Will you lower you voice!" He clamped his hand over her mouth, looking around as though paranoid someone would have heard. They were still alone however, only the steel lockers to overhear their words. "You didn't act like it was a bad idea when we were talking about it!" Still a whispering hiss.

"Yeah," her word was muffled against his hand until she slapped him away. "Because I thought you'd have a little more discretion and class!" He pursed his lips. "You don't get it Dean, what it's like for us. You get to hide behind all your chicks and womanizing, but he doesn't get to do that. And sure, maybe it was a rough and tumble hook-up at the party," she was staying quiet now, "but it took on something else when you approached him about it. He's single all the time, and probably not by choice. If you weren't actually interested in him for _him_, the least you could have done was say so politely."

"It's not like I was rude or feeling him up or something," Dean remarked hotly.

"No, but you were probably a sleaze-ball about it," she countered. "You weren't at a party Dean. The expectation wasn't the same. God, he probably hates you now. Way to be a jerk."

"I'm sorry!" Dean rebuked, his chest feeling tight as her reasoning began to sink in. He'd spent the last week swearing up and down to himself that Cas had just overreacted about the whole thing, but hearing Charlie's reasoning was making him second-guess himself. "I don't usually do this kind of thing, alright?" He either hooked-up at parties, or clubs, etc, or "dated" girls from their school. There wasn't usually this "random hook-up, only guy available" hang-up thrown into such logic.

"It amazes me that you did this, really," she admitted. "I mean, seriously Dean, this is one of the douchiest things you've ever done." Because for all his hook-ups and all his dates, he wasn't an ass about it. He took no for an answer, he didn't harass anyone. The fact that he'd come off as badly as he had was a serious dent in his ego. Because he did respect the people he slept with, he didn't slut-shame, none of that. And he certainly respected Cas.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Do?" Charlie shrugged. "Apologize, for one," she patted him on the shoulder. "And then never talk to him again." Turning away, she stalked off, Dean left to look after her with a sense of helpless disappointment. She was probably right. Cas had never done anything to bother or hurt him, which meant that the fact that he was thought poorly of wasn't okay. He didn't want Cas to think he was a slimy jerk, just like he didn't want anyone who he'd ever had a good time with to think so.

He felt incredibly stupid in that moment.

Grumbling some to himself, he turned to slowly head in the opposite direction as Charlie, vaguely aware that he had some kind of English class and that he probably ought to show up. It was the first day after all.

Without so much as a book or a backpack, he slumped his way on, pulling his schedule out of his pocket once he'd reached the English department. AP Lit or some shit his councilor had said he should take because "if he applied himself." It was in the last room on the right, Dean not at all bothered by the fact that he was entering a full classroom a whole twelve minutes late.

"And I…" The teacher came to a slow stop as he entered, Dean throwing her a dazzling smile as he shuffled his untied boots across the floor. His holy jeans were frumpy atop them, brown leather jacket rounding out his typical look.

"Dean," she smiled, knowing full well who he was.

"Amanda," he greeted with equal sweetness, to which she pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Take a seat Dean," she gestured to the class, only a few empty seats left. Two along the left edge and one in the back corner.

The back corner beside Castiel Novak.

"Thanks for offering," he added over his shoulder to her as he went straight for the corner seat. He could already see the irritation on Cas's face, but that hardly mattered. He knew he'd fucked up, so it was time to face the music.

Sliding into the chair, his eyes fell immediately to Cas's sharp profile, those blue eyes taking pains not to look his way. At the head of the class, their teacher had begun going over the syllabus again, Dean biting his scratched lip for a moment before trying to address the elephant between them. In a hushed manner of course.

"Hey, man, listen," his whispered, aware of the way Cas's eyes only quickly twitched in his direction before going forward again. "I need to say sorry about what happened before." He cleared his throat. "I was being an asshole and you didn't deserve that."

His admission seemed to surprise Cas, whose dark eyebrows scrunched together as he glanced over at him. Dean smiled – because he knew he had a great goddamn smile – and Cas's eyes narrowed.

"Seriously," Dean added. "I know when I fuck up." Or he knew when Charlie called him on it anyway. "I'm not the kind of guy that just let's that be, alright? So, really, I'm sorry."

"You're the type that likes to scratch at scabs, aren't you?" Cas asked, his tone so deep and quiet that it sounded almost like a rumble. Dean had to ignore the stirring in his jeans.

"I carry a stick around with me to poke at things, yes," he was still smiling, his gaze taking on a mischievous glint. "But so do you."

"You're not doing yourself any favors."

"C'mon, it's a joke," Dean encouraged, not sensing any real hostility between them. "If there's anyone who can appreciate dick jokes, it should be us."

Was that a slight smirk he'd seen?

"You two in the back," their teacher was looking at them. Namely Dean. "That's enough." Dean turned his smile on her, which didn't gather a positive response. Nor did the way he slumped in his seat. But, unfortunately for her, he didn't care. Rather, his focus fell back to Cas as the class continued. On the way he was staring at the teacher with his chin held up in his hand, his eyes occasionally darting to intercept the way Dean was staring at him.

He still had a slight bruise under his eye, Dean reaching up to finger the scab on his lip before his hand travelled elsewhere. Reaching out, he leaned forward, his fingers falling to the notebook on Cas's desk. Clearly taken aback by his forwardness, Cas didn't do anything to stop him from taking it, or the pencil that had been sitting on top of it. Instead, Cas's full attention on him now, he opened it before beginning to write.

Shortly after, he passed it back over.

"_You should know that nothing can really keep me quiet,_" he'd written – a reference to them getting into trouble. Castiel, reading it with only a slight twitch to his eyebrow, saw the blatant opening for an inappropriate response, but supposed that was probably what Dean wanted. He could ignore it, though part of him found the whole exchange exciting. He didn't get to flirt that often.

He wrote his response and passed the notebook back.

"_Passing notes? Don't you think that's a little 1990's?_"

It came back to him. "_I never got your number, so…_"

"_And you probably never will._"

Dean smirked, writing back quickly. "_Harsh. Are you rejecting me or just playing hard to get?_"

"_Playing hard to get implies that you actually stand a chance, which you don't, so I leave further interpretation up to you._"

"_I can interpret a lot._"

"_Go ahead. That doesn't mean we're reading off the same page._"

"_We were at the party._"

"Dean, Castiel, really?" their teacher reprimanded them again. Not like they were being particularly discreet about passing the notebook back and forth or anything. "Would you like me to read aloud to the class what you were writing or can you focus in here?" Cas had already pulled the notebook down into his lap, like that would hide it, and Dean supposed he could bite on such a threat.

"Sorry Amanda," Dean was ever-smiling. "Won't happen again." He clicked his tongue in a flirtatious manner, which clearly only infuriated her more, but Dean was pleased at the way Cas had to raise his hand to his mouth to hide a smile. Dean's grin turned feral, zeroing in on the man beside him, and he couldn't help thinking that this whole apologizing thing was going far better than he'd anticipated.

Probably because Cas was a little sorry too. Not that he had any intention of admitting as much. He had, after all, attacked Dean's car before doing the same to the guy himself. Maybe Dean had been a jerk about propositioning him, but that night hadn't been a shining moment in his own right either. Yet despite what had happened between them, there Dean was, being civil. Not ignoring him, not being a self-righteous ass about the fact that Cas had said "no" to his idea. Granted, he was flirting and being obnoxious, but it was in a harmless way. Besides, the fact that Dean wanted back in his pants was flattering in a dirty, secretive way. It made Cas's chest swell a little, the attention. He didn't get hit on very often.

And, well, Dean wasn't the worst thing he could have snagged along. Far from it actually – pretty boy that he was under all that roughage.

With their teacher's eye on them however, it was difficult to continue on with any shenanigans, Castiel having to be content with the way Dean kept flashing him looks and suggestive smiles. He was proud of his ability to ignore most of it, his attention seemingly focused front despite how every move Dean made registered in his peripherals. How he fidgeted in his seat, slouching forward and then back. How he fingered his scabbing lip and tapped his nails over the edge of the desk. Apparently he wasn't the type to ever sit still. Not that Castiel wasn't unsympathetic. For all is stone-cold stature, he was about as impatient. He'd just learned to reel in any physical sense of his duress.

Class had to end eventually however, everyone gathering their things and beginning to file out. Castiel could feel Dean's eyes on him the whole time, like a shadow that trailed him from the room and into the hall. And kept coming after him until he'd reached his locker, at which point Dean came up, crossed his arms over his chest, and casually leaned against the locker beside his own. If anyone noticed the two speaking, they didn't say anything. A look here or there, but that was because Dean Winchester was around, and, well, it didn't matter who he was speaking to, he always gathered looks.

Castiel did his best to pretend he wasn't there, beginning to place his English books inside his locker while Dean blatantly stared him down.

"You're going to start looking suspicious, ignoring me," Dean muttered after a moment. "Everybody else notices me."

"Your words drip with conceit. Like I don't have better things to do than speak with Dean Winchester."

"No better way you could spend your time," Dean grinned. "Well, actually, that's not true. There are a few things I could think of, but I'm still involved in all of them."

Castiel clicked his locker closed, turning to face Dean finally. "Persistent, aren't you?"

"When I want something, I go after it," he shrugged, their voices low. "What can I say?" Castiel "humphed" in response, his eyes narrowing. Despite how he enjoyed the attention however, he knew he couldn't lead Dean on. Flirting was one thing, but he didn't want to give Dean ideas where there weren't any.

"Listen," he started, his tone serious as he pushed away any remnants of impish glee, "while I'm flattered by all this," really, he was, "it's not going to happen." Dean's smile had already faded, his eyebrows coming together with intent focus that Castiel honestly hadn't been anticipating. "I don't do that kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?"

"The kind of thing you do," he made clear. "You seem like a nice guy Dean, and I'm not judging you for how you run your personal life, but I know how you are." The rumor mill never quit on it. "And that's not something I'm interested in."

"Not interested in me?" Dean questioned, smirking as if he knew better.

"Not interested," Castiel started, his words weighted, "in having sex with every other person you have sex with." Dean frowned then. "It's your life Dean, but that doesn't mean everyone wants a piece of it." He shrugged. "Sorry." They'd had their one night together, but that was all.

Dean was quiet as he took in the words, Castiel nearly spurred to turn and walk away if only to alleviate the thickness between. Before he had the chance however, Dean finally found his voice. "Nah, it's cool man," he lied, doing his best to hide how the honest rejection hit his ego. "I get it. No hard feelings." Castiel blinked, his lips twitching in what might have been a sympathetic smile gone bitter. "I'll leave ya alone."

Expression tight, Cas remained for only a second longer before nodding and turning away. He spotted Anna and Gabriel standing on the other side of the hall, having been watching the exchange, and headed their way. He didn't see the way Dean had rolled back against the lockers, his gaze going to the ceiling in frustration. Nor did he notice him finally walking off in the other direction, an air of obvious disappointment plaguing him.

Rather, he took in the curious looks his sister and cousin were throwing his way.

"Wow, what'd you just say to him?" Gabriel asked snidely as Castiel finally met them. "Looks like you just kicked him in the nuts or something." Castiel did turn back then, but Dean was gone.

"It was nothing," he assured, ignoring the slight pang in his gut that regretted his decision. But he wouldn't be swayed by it. Dean was a nice guy, sure, but that didn't mean he was healthy to be around. Castiel had seen what Dean's kind of irresponsibility could do, the lives it could destroy. He loved his sister, he did, but he'd sworn his whole life he'd never be the kind of person his father was. And he certainly wasn't going to be involved with the same kind of cloth either.

"That didn't look like 'nothing,'" Anna remarked certainly, her arms crossing over her chest. "What happened between you two?"

"It's as I said," Castiel continued to lie. "There's nothing to say."

"Yeah, right," Gabriel smirked in that knowing way he was prone to, the three of them heading down the hall to their next class, which they had together. "So Cassie, by the way, that lube I gave you at that party before New Years, think I could have it back?" Anna laughed as soon as the question left Gabriel's lips, Castiel turning to him with a threatening glare. "I mean, since you probably aren't gonna use it."

"No," was the simple response Castiel offered him, one that pulled more laughter from Anna.

"Why's that Cassie?" Gabriel jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. "You got plans for it?"

"Shut up Gabriel," Castiel snapped.

"Did you seriously use it?" Anna asked once she'd stopped her giggling. "I mean, Gabe and I came up with the plan to give it to you," what they'd probably been discussing in the car on the way to the infamous party Castiel just couldn't escape, "but I didn't think you and… Dean Winchester would… wow…"

"I never said I used it," Castiel hissed, the three of them coming to a stop just outside their chemistry class. "And even if I did, you don't know with whom I did so."

"Cassie," Gabriel clicked his tongue doubtfully, "I've never seen you talk to Dean Winchester before in the whole time we've been here, and then when you finally do, he looks totally blue-balled when you walk away. C'mon, how stupid do you think we are? Why else would Dean Winchester talk to you? Or why else would you talk to him?"

Castiel wasn't sure of that last comment said more about him or Dean. "We're done talking about this," he decided with a sense of finality, passing them by and heading into the chemistry class. Anna and Gabriel cast each other a single look as they followed, but didn't bring it up again for the rest of the day. Mostly because Castiel hadn't given them the chance. They knew better than to talk about such things with others around, like at lunch, and they didn't see Castiel in the afternoon.

Which suited Castiel perfectly. Never before had his personal life been invaded so thoroughly. Between Dean and his friends, the attention was really beginning to bother him. He knew that it really wasn't that much, but he'd always been exceptionally careful to keep his social and private lives separate. Mostly he just wanted to forget the whole thing had happened. Yet even as he headed to his car after school, he was finding that doing so was becoming more and more difficult. Probably because this wasn't some across the country swim meet where he never saw any of his flings ever again. Instead, like a red flag constantly waving in the back of his head, he was suddenly hyper aware of Dean Winchester all the time.

Where he was in the halls, where he was at lunch, where he was rumored to be out back smoking things he shouldn't be. It was all quite ridiculous, Castiel mentally reprimanding himself when his eyes scanned the parking lot for that infamous black Impala. He found it of course – surrounded by people with Dean right in the middle.

He didn't look at it again, despite how his eyes dared to wander. Instead, sunglasses slipped onto his nose, he found his own car and made a hasty escape. He felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket, but he ignored it. Likely it'd be one of his friends, wanting to hang out and pester him further. Well, he wasn't going to have any of it.

Home, that was where he was headed.

_Alone_.

Dean Winchester, on the other hand, didn't have the time to mingle long with the populace of his high school, no matter how much they wanted him around. Gathering Charlie and Jo into his car, he waved goodbye to Garth and Benny before bringing his car around the middle school, where he picked up Sam. On the days where he worked, that was how his afternoons generally went. Sam then went home with Jo and Charlie, to Ellen, until he was done around nine-thirty, at which point he picked his little brother up and they went home. That afternoon wasn't unlike any other in that respect, Sam telling Jo about his first day back while Charlie looked pointedly over at him from the passenger seat.

So maybe that was the one thing that was different. She was boring her stare into him, aware of the way he'd dejectedly moped around during their afternoon romp on the school grounds, doing things they knew they shouldn't. As it were however, he had no intention of divulging to her what had transpired between him and Cas. Mostly because the more he thought about it, the more bummed he got.

Therefore, wondering over and over to himself how someone could possibly reject him, he dropped the three off at Ellen's and headed on down to Bobby's Shop.

Working for Bobby wasn't a bad gig. Back when Dean's father had been around more, him and Bobby had been pals, workin' on cars together, that kind of thing. Him and Sam had spent much of their younger years running around the old junkyard back behind the mechanic's shop. Which was how Dean had landed the job being as young as he had. Bobby'd known what he could do and paid him cash under the counter, what with it being illegal to work a minor the way he had. But Dean had never held it against him. Quite the opposite actually, he was thankful. Bobby gave him a chance when no one else would have, was like a second father and mentor to him. Dean had learned everything from the gruffer, tough-talking older man. Anything from oil changes to rebuilding engines. There were a few things he'd learned from his real father, back before things had gone sour, but the brunt of it was Bobby's doing.

Dean liked being a mechanic, really. It was something he was good at, working with his hands. He'd always had a knack for that kind of technical stuff – taking things apart and putting them back together. During the summers he even worked over at a body shop on the other side of town, helping rebuild classics and other more specific jobs. It wasn't some hoity-toity, big money job, but Dean was content with it.

And he didn't think there was anything wrong with that.

"Back again," Bobby said to him as he walked in, the older man standing behind the counter filling out an order sheet.

"Back again," Dean repeated as he rounded his way to the back and exchanged his leather jacket for the worn, blue coveralls hanging from a hook on the corner of the lobby. Slipping them on, he zipped them up the middle before heading to join Bobby.

"How was school?" the older, bearded man inquired, Dean looking over his shoulder at what he was doing.

"Same ol' thing," Dean replied vaguely. He was perfectly aware of the doubtful look Bobby pinned him with, but chose to ignore it. His boss wasn't a hard-ass about him pulling good grades, but he had made a point of expecting that Dean at least passed if he wanted to keep getting the hours he did, which was why he was even in school at all. Because Bobby was determined he'd get his "damn diploma."

"Benny's already out back workin' on an exhaust system," Bobby moved on from the subject a moment later. "Probably need your help."

"Sure," Dean flashed him smile before pushing himself off the counter. Going out the backdoor to the shop, he spotted Benny backing an old minivan into one of the stalls. He generally arrived at work earlier than Dean, what with him not having a little brother to pick up. One of the few guys at their school who could grow a beard and actually make it look good, Benny tended to come off older than he was. Had that kind of wisdom too. And when he'd approached Dean about needing a job, and been all serious and polite about it with his south-eastern accent, Dean had done all he could. Which was how they'd ended up working at the shop together. Granted, Benny only got part-time hours because he wasn't eighteen yet, but it was enough for the moment. He was on his own and didn't need much. Just a roof over his head, which all his friends were more than happy to provide whenever he needed.

He was staying with Garth for the time being.

"Wow, this thing sounds terrible," Dean commented once the van was parked on the lift, engine killed.

"Yeah, but nothin' you and me aint' dealt with before," Benny affirmed as they stared at the hunk of junk. "Ought to have it done by tomorrow, if we're workin' together." Benny had the voice of a bear, deep and heavy, but round too, fuzzy in a teddy kind of way. Not like Cas's, which was like gravel in the dirt.

Dean shook the thought from his head.

"What'dya say we get to work then Brother?" Benny decided, patting him encouragingly on the shoulder. Nodding, they set about lifting the van up and beginning to take it apart, Bobby dealing with customers and those who were coming to pick their vehicles up. Occasionally Benny or Dean were pulled away for something easy like an oil change or windshield wipers, but they were pretty far along with the van by the time eight o'clock rolled around.

Dean's thoughts, which were buzzing quite against his wishes, kept time going along at a pretty steady rate as well. Because no matter how he tried to fight it, he couldn't get Cas out of his head.

He supposed he got it, why he'd been rejected. Cas didn't approve of his personal habits. Which was fine. To each their own. But that didn't mean he wasn't still bothered. He knew he shouldn't be, everyone went to hit and missed sometimes, but no matter how he tried to out-logic himself, his brain always came tripping back around to Castiel. Maybe because Cas was the only one he could think of to give him what he wanted, or because he'd never been rejected twice by the same person. Granted, he'd kind of walked into it. Usually if someone told him "no," he didn't go sniffing around for more. But Cas had gotten that chance and even though they'd flirted back and forth, he'd still declined.

It was irking really, and took Dean's mood down the longer he thought about it.

Because Cas didn't get involved with people like him. People that saw the joys in sex, apparently. Dean kind of wanted to be offended, but Cas had been pretty clear that his choice had been based on objectivity, not slut-shaming (because men could be slut-shamed too!). Which made Dean consider the alternative. If he wasn't sleeping around, would Cas change his mind? Granted, that wasn't exactly Dean's style, but his libido was reaching near code-red levels concerning his lack of action in that "fashion" lately. He hadn't even hooked-up with any women recently because none of them would have been able to give him what he wanted. Well, unless other methods were utilized, but he didn't want just anyone to know he was asking for it up the ass, be it dick or some other toy.

It was incredibly frustrating actually, and was leaving him feeling quite cornered. Because what was he supposed to do? Swear off sleeping with other people so long as he was gettin' banged by Cas? Seemed like an awful lot to give up, really, but when considering his lack of interest in anything else the last few weeks, maybe he didn't have much choice.

He felt like he was giving in though, considering the idea. Like Cas was somehow winning in a game they weren't even playing. Dean didn't like to surrender, not in anything, but his body was practically begging him for a solution. He was having more and more dreams about it all the time, and it was getting harder and harder to quench his desire through fantasy.

He'd even dropped to the point where he'd looked up gay porn, something he'd never, ever admit to anyone ever. But what the fuck was he supposed to do?

He was beginning to really hate Cas.

But, goddammit, he wanted him _so bad_.

"Your phone's ringing," Benny interrupted his thoughts from where they were standing at the back table working on the van's exhaust system. Having not heard the short ring, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled the contraption out into the light. The screen revealed a number he didn't recognize. A text from someone not in his contacts. Which, well, wasn't that shocking to him. Dean gave out his number, he didn't usually get them (another thing of Cas's he wished he had. Friggin' guy had him all screwed up), so a lot of the texts he got were anonymous. Only his closest friends got the privilege of being in his contacts.

Opening the text message, all it read was, "**Hey, I've had this number for a while, but I don't know if it's still right. Is this Dean Winchester's phone?**"

Dean cocked and eyebrow, but typed back a simple "**yeah**" before tucking the phone back into his pocket and getting back to work. A few minutes later he got another text, which he let sit a little longer until his hands were free.

"**Oh, awesome! I was hoping it was still right. This is Anna Milton.**"

"**Anna Milton?**" Dean typed back, knowing exactly who she was. They'd made out some at a party the year before, but hadn't had much contact since. What could she want? "**Can I help you with something?**" He finished the message, adding a winky emoji at the end. She was a nice girl after all; the least he could do was flirt a bit. Seemed right.

"Who's that?" Benny asked nonchalantly.

"Anna Milton," he replied with a shrug, surprised when Benny glanced up at him quickly, looking rather surprised. "What?"

"Nothin'," he said a moment later, the two of them continuing on with their work. Until Dean's phone predictably rang again.

"**Well, I think so? You know my brother, right? Castiel Novak?**"

"Brother?" Dean muttered to himself, rather surprised at the direction this conversation was going. Snapping his fingers, he drew Benny's attention from where he'd wandered back over to the van. "Do you know if Castiel Novak and Anna Milton are related?" he asked across the distance between them, Benny looking thoughtful.

"Yeah, I think so," he confirmed. "She's always hanging around with him. I think they're half siblings or something."

"Huh…" Dean hadn't known. He was about to type back a reply, but his understanding of the situation caused him pause. Because if Anna and Cas were half siblings, then that implied a certain amount of underhanded play. They were the same age, about, which meant that one of their parent's must have been…

Well, that was something he hadn't known before.

"**I might know him, yeah,**" Dean replied ambiguously. "**Why?**" He wasn't quite sure how to react to this whole "they were siblings" thing. Did that mean they were close? Or would that be weird seeing as one of their parents must have been having an affair to produce one of them. He didn't want to assume anything, in case this conversation went in directions he didn't want to discuss.

"**Don't play dumb with me Winchester,**" she replied a moment later, Benny giving him an odd look as he continued to chat with her. "**How well do you know him?**"

"**Why do you want to know?**" Dean would play as "dumb" as he wanted.

"What are you two talkin' about?" Benny asked, Dean unsure how to answer (because not even he was sure to be frank), so he could only give a simple shrug, which caused Benny to purse his lips disapprovingly.

It took Anna a few minutes longer to reply after that.

"**Look, I just want to know how well you two know each other,**" her next message read. "**If you know what I'm talking about, then you know, and if you don't, then you don't.**" Cryptic much? "**I'm just trying to figure out what happened.**"

Dean had to pause to consider that message, knowing that there was only one thing she could be referring to, but aware that she wasn't talking about it blatantly. Which told him two things. One, Cas hadn't told her. She was guessing and didn't want to assume. Second, that she was afraid she was wrong, otherwise she wouldn't be going to such lengths to hide the truth from Dean. Just in case nothing had happened between him and Cas and she accidentally gave away Cas's secret.

Well, Dean had no intention of indulging her. He didn't want to tell just anyone about his own skeletons any better.

"**How we may or may not know each other, it's really none of your business,**" Dean replied, thinking that was the wisest thing to say to get her off his back.

"**Wow, defensive much?**" was her next message, Dean pursing his lips at her analysis. He hadn't meant to come off that way. "**You can tell me. I already know, but Castiel doesn't want to talk about it. I'm just trying to look out for him.**"

"**No you're not,**" Dean replied, imagining the text as being a little snappish in his head. "**You're just snooping around in other people's business.**"

The next text he got was a sad face, to which he gave no reply.

Shaking his head in irritation, he returned to the exhaust system, somewhat peeved about the whole thing. Hadn't Cas been the one to say he didn't want other people to know? And maybe that comment might have stuck more severely in Dean's head had he not revealed his secret to Charlie. After all, Anna had said Cas hadn't talked about it. Maybe she'd just figured it out. And even if she hadn't, she was the guy's sister. He supposed her knowing could be forgiven.

He really needed a reason to be mad at Cas, but nothing seemed justified.

Half an hour later, he got another text from her.

"**I'm just asking because I think he likes you,**" she explained, apparently thinking it safe to reveal her brother's interest. Probably what she'd been thinking about the last half an hour. "**And I don't want you to get any ideas.**"

Dean was a little taken aback by that last, his full attention falling to his phone as he leaned back against the table.

"**What's that supposed to mean?**" he texted angrily. "**I'll have any ideas that I want, thanks.**" He ended it with the red, mad-faced emoji, his real irritation apparent in the way he glared down at the phone, waiting for a response. Benny watched him curiously, but didn't ask.

"**Seriously Dean,**" Anna texted a moment later. "**Everyone knows about your reputation. I'm just trying to protect Castiel.**" Dean almost scoffed at that. "**I've known him my whole life and I also know that you're the worst kind of person he could get involved with.**"

Yeah, Dean was definitely insulted. No matter how true her words might be.

"**First of all, like I said, none of your business,**" he was texting furiously. "**Secondly, you don't have anything to worry about. Cas and I aren't involved, so you can keep your worries to yourself.**" He added the haughty emoji with smoke coming out of its nonexistent nose, just for good measure.

"**Oh… Okay… Sorry,**" was what she responded with only a moment later. "**I didn't mean to make you angry. It's just that Castiel and I don't have very good experience with people who, you know, sleep around. And I think it's better that you two not get involved.**"

Dean was getting more annoyed, if at all possible. "**You're making me feel so much better,**" he typed. "**Ya know, how I live is my choice and I don't appreciate getting berated for it twice in one day.**" He wouldn't say Cas had actually done as much, but she didn't know that. "**Your brother has already made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with me, so you can stop 'trying to protect him.' I think he's got it under control.**"

He didn't get a response from her after that.

Expression tight, he got back to work, Benny watching him occasionally. Not that he blamed his friend. He was slamming tools around and acting generally pissed off. But, then again, he was. Pissed, and horny, and oddly hurt.

"Hey," he said some fifteen minutes after the texting had ended, his back to Benny as they spoke. "Do you think I sleep around too much?"

"Did you sleep with Anna Milton?" was the immediate response he got, Dean turning his head over his shoulder to see Benny staring intently at him.

"What? No," he shook his head, not really noticing the way Benny's posture dropped. "She doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Oh," Benny was thoughtful. "Well," he shrugged, "it's your life Brother. Not my place to say one way or another." Which wasn't helpful at all. "I guess there aint no problem with it so long as you and whoever is with you haven't got no problem with it."

"You must have some other opinion Benny," Dean pushed. "It's not like you're going around sleeping with any of the girls from our school." Sometimes he thought Garth probably got more action than Benny did.

"Well it aint my style Brother," Benny replied simply. "You're you and I'm me. Nothin' wrong one way or the other." Perhaps it was Dean's piercing look that spurred him to continue. "I guess I'm just waitin' for the right girl," he continued. "The rest's just salt."

"Salt?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"Sure," Benny threw out half a smile. "Added flavor, but don't really need it."

"There's nothing wrong with having fun until you find the right girl though," Dean defended.

"No, there's not," Benny agreed. "But if you're tastin' every sweet thing that comes along," he was finally getting to his objection to the whole thing, in the soft way Benny did, "then how're you sure you're not gonna find that perfect taste and pass it over because you're numb to it all?"

"But how're you gonna know you're not just going for the first flavor if you haven't tasted the others first?"

Benny grinned totally. "You got me there Brother," he added. "Guess it's all just guessin.'" Dean sighed. "You worried?" A curious look overcame him. "You got your eye on someone?"

"No, not really," Dean replied, his eyes drifting to the side. "Just letting gossip get the better of me I guess."

"Someone's always gossipin' about you," Benny laughed. "Never bothered you before."

"Yeah, well, I'm not really bothered," or he was trying not to be. "Just thinking." He didn't give Benny the chance to ask further. "C'mon, let's get back to this exhaust. I don't want to still be working on it on Wednesday."

**oOo**

This hadn't been how Castiel had anticipated spending his evening.

"Castiel, straighten your tie," his mother demanded, Castiel slowly raising his hands and pulling his tie tightly proper, his eyes focused down on his food. He then returned his hands to his lap, afraid the other two at the table would hear the way his teeth were grinding together.

"You'll never get anywhere looking sloppy Castiel," his father lectured monotonously, his fork scraping against his plate to the far right side of the long table. "Appearance is very important in the real world, no matter what anyone might tell you."

"He's right," his mother agreed, her own finely manicured hands delicately cutting away at a well-done piece of steak. "Have you considered what you're going to wear to your university interviews? We'll want to order the suits soon, so they can be fitted properly."

Reaching out, Castiel took hold of his water glass, taking a forcefully steadied drink before he answered.

"I haven't even been accepted yet," he replied coldly. "What logic is there in preparing for something that does not yet exist?" He forked a piece of broccoli into his mouth, chewing with deliberate slowness.

"Nonsense Castiel," his mother brushed off the idea. "You're first in your class. You'll be accepted. There's no reason to even entertain otherwise." Besides, he was a Novak. His father was a prized Harvard alumni. Such a fact went a long way, or so Castiel had reasoned.

"You'll be at Harvard by this time next year," his father glanced up at him. "Or Yale, Stanford, wherever it is you decide." The choice was his. Just so long as that choice didn't soil the family name.

His father cleared his throat, Castiel recognizing it was his way of changing the subject. Like he had to think out every conversation piece he had with his "family." "Are you seeing anyone?" This question was asked every time he was home, and every time Castiel gave the same answer.

"No Father," he refused to look up from his plate.

"Well, it's probably for the best," Jim concluded. "You'll meet someone more to your standard when you go to college. A girl with a strong background and something worth considering." Because there were obviously no such people around or Castiel would have noticed, or so his parents were figuring. Because there couldn't possibly be any other explanation.

Castiel was afraid that if he ate another bite he'd be sick.

"Someone like Anna?" he found himself asking quite against his better judgment. The comment had come to his lips before he'd even thought of it. Like his body had spit it out as a means of defense. Because he knew exactly the kind of reaction such a comment would procure, and so did his parents.

He could practically hear his mother's spoon scraping the china.

"No, Castiel," she said tightly, quickly. "I understand you and Anna are close, but she's not the type of girl you should be affiliating with when you're gone." She didn't look at her husband as she spoke. "You know that perfectly well." She was right, he did, and she was angry that he'd even bring it up.

What would she say if she knew the truth, he wondered. Probably nothing. She'd be too shocked.

"Your mother's right," Jim added, his tone guarded. "I think we can drop the subject there." Because they were getting too close to the matter. Too close to the truth, and that wasn't allowed to be talked about. Concerning anything and everything apparently.

The silence that ensued after that was more stifling than the conversation, Castiel eating slower and slower by the minute, if only so he wouldn't throw it all back up again. His whole body was sweating beneath his clothes, heavy and formal as they were, and he couldn't shake the tense agitation zinging up through his every nerve. Like he was surrounded in eggshells, threatening to break at even the slightest disturbance.

The softest breath gone in the wrong direction.

"Well," Jim said after some ten minutes where not even a look was exchanged. "I'd better head up to the office. I've got some contracts to go over." He slid his chair back, dismissing himself from the meal. "I'll be heading out early tomorrow and be back in a few days." He didn't say it like a farewell, but like a fact, his hands coming up to straighten his suit jacket before he turned and headed out of the dining room. Because he'd met his familial obligations, his dinner date, and felt his conscious cleared.

Castiel took it as opportunity enough.

Shoving his chair back loudly, he saw his mother flinch at the noise. He didn't care however. Tossing his napkin down atop his nearly full plate, he turned and fled the room, not saying a single word on the subject. Rather, dress shoes tapping lightly atop the stairs, he headed as quickly as he could to his room, closing the door and leaning back against it in relief.

For a moment he just stood there, recovering as best he could from the torture he was forced to go through at least once every few weeks. One would think he'd have grown accustomed to it, the random times his father showed up that his mother never thought to warn him about. But he was always set in a flurry of agitation as he went to get dressed properly, to brush his hair as he should and cancel any plans he might have had. Because when Jim was home, the world had to stop. If only so they could pretend it was going on like some kind of expected, well-greased wheel.

But Castiel could hear the screeching it made, even if they couldn't.

Sighing, he tried to steady himself as he pushed off from his door and walked across the carpet to his bed. Pulling off his tie, he dropped it carelessly to the floor amongst the other clothes he had littered about, his body dropping heavily down on the mattress. Sitting for a moment, he considered if maybe he should call Anna. She was always good to vent to about their father, what with the fact that she had just as much to say. Jim never dropped by the Milton household for dinner after all.

But as he thought about it, he eyes flicked to the clock on his end table. It was nearing nine-thirty. His father had gotten him around seven, which meant that, whether it had seemed logical or not, they had had to sit down and eat, to "catch up." Maybe some people ate dinner this late, but Castiel found it to be rather ridiculous. He should be going to bed, more so because his parents exhausted him than because it was particularly late. And he knew if he called Anna, he'd be up for hours.

He'd just tell her about it tomorrow.

Flopping back on his bed, he closed his eyes, willing his breath to be even in an attempt to will away any remaining tension. And it was in that silence that he heard it.

A loud tap.

Eyes blinking back open, he furrowed his brows, initially making no efforts to move. That was, until he heard it again.

A loud rap. And it was coming from the door leading out onto his balcony.

Sitting up, he squinted, waiting to see if it'd happen again. Which, after a few moments, it did.

Standing, he hastily made his way to the glass doors, opening and staring down around them. There were rocks, pebbles really, littered about. Three of them to be more precise. Was someone throwing rocks at his windows?

He immediately thought of Gabriel – because whenever there was mischief he thought of Gabriel – but then decided that wouldn't make any sense. If Gabriel wanted his attention, he'd just come in the house, not try to break his windows.

Somewhat irritated now, Castiel marched to the edge of his balcony and look down over it. Just in time for another rock to come souring up, nearly hitting him right in the face.

"Oh shit, sorry," the culprit hissed from the darkness below, Castiel looking down upon them with pursed lips, able to see only just – due to the light coming down from his bedroom. "I mean," he cleared his throat. "Castiel, Castiel, wherefore art thou Castiel?"

"What are you doing here?" Castiel deadpanned, amused despite himself as he leaned lazily forward on the banister.

"Obviously, I've come to throw rocks through your windows," Dean clarified before straightening and bowing rather elaborately. "I mean, good Sir Cas, please, let down your hair so I mightest climb the tower and… I dunno, yadda, yadda, yadda, other romantic shit." He was smiling, seeming devilishly alluring even so far below.

"Wow," Cas pretended to slowly fan himself. "I'm swooning up here. Please, don't let the flattery halt Good Sir Knight."

Dean smiled wider, if at all possible. "Your eyes are the moonlight, your… hair the shade of a raven's feather," he shrugged, obviously talking out his ass, "and your dick is the arrow that pierces my heart. Well," he smiled wider, "maybe it pierces something a little different."

Castiel sighed, glancing around in slight paranoia before focusing back down on Dean.

"How did you get in here?" he asked when it was clear no one was likely listening in. His parents remained on the other side of the house most of the time anyway. And seeing as the mansion was huge, that was a considerable distance.

"I climbed over yonder fence," he gestured back. "Almost impaled myself on it actually."

"What a pity you didn't."

"That cuts me deep Cas."

"I thought you liked that."

"Well, I suppose that's why I'm here, isn't it?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I thought we'd already come to a determination on this," Castiel replied, almost serious. "This is bordering on harassment. And trespassing. You said you'd leave me alone."

"I will, I promise," Dean assured, his hands going to the pockets of his jeans. "I just have one more proposition for you." Since when had that word become an allurement between them? "I swear, just hear me out one more time and if you still don't want anything to do with me, I'll never talk to you again."

Staring down at him contemplatively, Castiel eventually decided that there was no harm in listening. He'd just refuse him again anyway.

"Wait there, I'll be down in a minute," he gave in before backing up away from the edge. Heading quickly through his room, he was silently stepping his socked feet out into the hall and down the stairs. Detouring his way to the west side of the house – the level directly beneath his room, he maneuvered through the darkness to the far door, which was usually kept locked. Pushing it open, he saw Dean turning to face him just beyond the stairs.

Halting at the top step, Castiel crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the still-smiling Dean.

"You could have been caught you know," Castiel lectured, ignoring how his whole body jolted with excitement in response to Dean leaning up on the first step. "What if it hadn't been my room you were throwing rocks at?"

"I saw you through the window," Dean shrugged. "Figured the odds were in my favor."

"Sure," Castiel took a deep breath. "So, what do you want?"

"I think that's pretty clear," Dean smarmed, but Castiel wasn't impressed, and clearly so. "Okay, okay," Dean took another step up, his hands raised in surrender. "In all seriousness," his smile fell away, Castiel finding it even more difficult to refuse him with such sincerity suddenly leaking across his expression. "I'm not trying to be a creep here. Really, this isn't usually my M.O. But…"

"What?" Castiel asked briskly, watching as Dean's shadowed green eyes flicked to the side. Almost self-consciously.

"I know maybe you're not into the whole casual sex thing," Dean started honestly, "and I can respect that. I get it, really. And I don't want you to feel like I'm bothering you, or pressuring you. I get it was a one-night hook-up and that normally me approaching you like this would be totally uncalled for."

"Get to the point, Dean."

"Uh, well, I don't… really have one," he continued lamely. "Except maybe asking you to reconsider?" Wow, he was really fucking this up. But he didn't exactly do this very often. Ever. Whatever it was he was trying to do.

"Dean, we've already been over this," Castiel sighed, his whole mood deflating. Because Dean was cute and funny and was flirting with him, but he was also being kind of a jerk. "I don't do that sort of thing. Especially with someone who's going to be sleeping around otherwise."

"That's it," Dean snapped his fingers, coming a step closer. "I won't do that." A conclusion he wasn't totally sure on, but man was his dick doing the talking. "I won't sleep around with anyone else. Scouts honor," he did the catholic cross down across chest. Backwards. "While you and I are hittin' it, I won't touch another person. That way, I mean."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, unsure what to think. Because this wasn't exactly a solution. It was more of a sideways path that led to the same place. Yet it still left Castiel in rather a conundrum. Because he couldn't tell if this was Dean's way of asking him out or just getting into is pants. Well, obviously it was the latter, but it was almost… sweet. In a dirty, demented away. Because Dean wanted to have sex with him, and was willing to give up all other sex to get it. Castiel wasn't sure there was a word for that, which was making it even more difficult to label. Maybe exclusive fuck-buddies?

"However long it is," Dean started again. "A week, a month," he honestly didn't think it'd last that long. "I'll be totally all about only you." Yet still Castiel didn't know what to say. Because part of him wanted Dean, but that had been true since their one night together. Yet the more logical part of him knew _this_ wasn't what he wanted.

"Think of it as a compromise," Dean was standing on the step just below him, only a short distance between them. "It's not exactly ideal for either of us, but that doesn't mean it can't be fun." He smiled again, those shining teeth bright in the darkness. Castiel couldn't deny he had a great smile. Just a facet of his many physically alluring qualities. And though he was proposing something Castiel normally wouldn't even consider, he was being a gentleman about it. As much as a gentleman he could be when trying to get into someone's pants. And boy was he persistent. He could have moved on, but he hadn't.

There was an argument in the back of Castiel's mind telling him that Dean only wanted him because he was the only viable option for what they'd done. But Dean could have gone outside their school – Castiel wasn't the only gay man in Texas. He could have given up, but he hadn't.

Maybe that counted for something.

"C'mon," Dean murmured a second later, able to tell quite clearly, probably due to the silence, that Castiel was considering it. "It doesn't have to mean anything." Stepping up all the way, his toes were just holding him on Cas's level, his hand coming forth to gently slide along the collar of Cas's dress shirt.

"It should always mean something," Castiel replied softly, yet still there was a sharpness to his speech. A scolding perhaps.

"Then just tell me what it means," Dean whispered, his breath hot against Castiel's lips as he leaned in. Before pulling his face up cheek to cheek so his voice was in Castiel's ear. "Whatever you want," yet the unspoken words continued on with "for however long we're together." Because once Dean was bored – once he'd had his way – he'd be gone. Castiel knew that, but it was nice. Nice to have someone wanting him. Someone that he wanted back.

And Dean was _so_ beautiful.

Maybe he was being used, but part of Castiel almost liked the idea. The honest conviction of the whole thing. Because for all Dean's faults, he was being upfront about it, about what he wanted. He wasn't dancing around any bushes or speaking through a mask. He was there, raw, exposing his desire, and that was probably the most attractive thing about him in that moment.

"I don't play games, Dean," Castiel muttered against him, his blood already beginning to surge downward as Dean's hands fell to rest on his hips. "And I don't deal well with dishonesty." A warning.

"I'll keep my word," Dean assured, his nose rubbing into Castiel's cheek.

"And when it's over, it's over," Castiel continued. "And you'll never come back."

"I'll never bother you again."

Castiel couldn't believe he was actually falling for this.

"Come on," he reached down and grabbed Dean's hand, backing away a step and into the full darkness of the house. "Be quiet." Dean smiled again, wider than Castiel had ever seen him, and it only pushed him to act faster. Pulling Dean along behind him, he headed back inside, closing and locking the side doors behind them. Before he could continue on however, Dean was reaching for him in the darkness of the parlor, holding him by the waist before forcing their lips together. Reaching up, Castiel let his hands rest on his shoulders, his eyes closing as he lost himself only momentarily in the moment.

"We have to get upstairs," he broke away. "My parents are home." Forcefully pulling back, he grabbed Dean by the hand again before beginning to drag him through the west end of the house. Light shone in from the foyer as they reached the large doorway, Castiel pausing to look out for anyone around.

Dean was coming up behind him, grabbing as his hips and trying to pull him back. It took all of Castiel's self-control not to give in. Instead, sure the coast was clear, he grasped Dean's hand for the third time before pulling him out into the light of the chandelier.

"Holy shit…" Dean muttered behind him as he yanked him up the stairs. He was looking at the crystal shards above their heads, his mouth gaping open in momentary distraction as Castiel continued to hurry them up and out of sight. Stumbling some, Dean came quickly after, only sidetracked by the house for a second longer. Until Castiel was pulling him around the corner and toward his door at the end of the hall.

Thankful when they finally reached it, Castiel shoved his way through, jerking Dean in before he quickly closed and locked the door.

"This is your room?" Dean asked once he was in, again shocked out of his initial goals to be struck by the sight. Truth be told, he'd never been in a house like this one. Nothing even relatively close. His nearest touch with grandeur was the school auditorium. But this was something else entirely. High ceilings, pillars, expensive furniture. Art on the walls. Personal bathroom. It was at least twice the size of his trailer, maybe a little more.

He couldn't help gaping, blinking around despite the dim lighting given off by the numerous lamps spotted around.

"Yes, I suppose," Castiel replied awkwardly.

"It's… big…" Dean stated stupidly, Castiel finally managing to comprehend where Dean's commentary was coming from. He knew Dean didn't come from money, that much was obvious. He didn't know how poor he was exactly, or if that was even a correct way to label him (he could be middleclass for all Castiel knew), but whatever he was, it was far enough removed from Castiel's lifestyle to disrupt him.

"You're not here to admire my bedroom," Castiel replied, still holding that hand as he began to gingerly tug him along, back toward the bed. Which drew Dean's attention his way, green eyes wide and attentive as they passed the pulled curtains into the specified bed part of Castiel's "bedroom." Standing at the baseboard, Dean finally caught up completely, his muscular arms reaching around Castiel to pull him closer as their lips met again. Hands coming up to cup his jaw, Castiel breathed it in, his whole body flushing with excitement.

Pulling Dean's bottom lip in-between his own, he sucked hard, smiling at the way Dean groaned before he laid his hands on his broad chest and shoved him back. So hard, in fact, that the backs of Dean's legs hit the bed and he fell down into sitting, looking moderately surprised as he glanced up at Castiel.

"I'll be right back," Castiel said, his voice straight and even. "By the time I get back over here, your clothes had best be off your body."

"Yes Sir," Dean smiled rather cockily, saluting Castiel as he turned and walked off to the other side of the room. Standing again, he quickly shucked off his jacket before dropping it to the floor. His t-shirt was yanked off next, boots kicked away and his pants falling quickly down his legs. Dean wasn't the shy type in the least, and so wasn't at all fazed when his boxers were lastly slipped away. Naked and more than excited about what was currently about to happen, he scooted back onto the bed, the back of his mind echoing with thoughts about the party encounter he'd had with Cas. His more conscious focus landed to the bed however, his hand pressing into it as he continued to slide back. It was soft, probably one of those expensive, special mattresses. Not like the hard things Dean had been forced to buy half price.

And as his back hit the headboard, he was aware of the plush pillows buffering his back, his whole body seeming to sink comfortably into the mattress.

Yeah, he could dig this.

Smiling again, he sat back against the headboard, his legs crossing at the ankles as he twined his hands together atop his torso and waited.

Cas wasn't long in coming.

Rounding his way back to the end of the bed, he paused to look Dean up and down, a single eyebrow cocking as he tossed a bottle of lube carelessly atop the sheets. In his other hand was a remote, one he used to click a stereo into playing on the other side of the room.

"Fleetwood Mac? Really?" Dean questioned.

"You have a problem with that?" Castiel asked curtly, clearly not caring if he did. "I need something to play so my parents don't gather what's going on." They probably wouldn't hear them anyway, being on the other side of the house, but they didn't usually bother him about loud music, even that late at night, so it should cover up anything they might happen to register.

"No problem," Dean shook his head. "I like Fleetwood Mac."

Tossing the remote to the side, Castiel then lowered his hands to the buttons on his shirt, beginning to undo them one by one as he stared Dean down. Their eye contact never broke, not even as he shrugged the shirt to the floor, revealing his toned, taught chest. It was in moments such as those that Dean really realized just how bisexual he was. Because damn, some women really had it goin' on and then, holy shit, some guys were just really fucking hot. Cas was one of those guys. Tanned, muscled, hairless in this case. And giving Dean the heaviest, bluest bedroom eyes he'd ever seen.

His belt was soon cut loose, his slacks dropping to the floor and revealing his strong swimmer's legs. That, and the way his own desire over the situation pushed out against his briefs, Dean registering as more blood pumped down between his own legs.

And then he smirked. Just barely, just enough to see for only a moment, and Dean knew he was done for. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't turn back.

Tips of his fingers dragging sensually around the rim of his briefs, Cas breathed deep as he began to slowly slide them down. Masterfully carved hips revealed, then those alluring creases below his torso. And then he was bent over, shimmying them off his legs before slowly standing back up again.

Dean didn't know much about swimming as a sport, really, but he was pretty sure there were certain parts of a man that didn't necessarily have to be shaved. Yet, for whatever reason, Cas went the extra mile. And for that, he wasn't going to complain.

"I knew you wanted me," Dean's smile stretched across his lips again, Castiel scoffing only lightly before crossing his arms over his chest. His lack of action, even as they both remained there totally naked, eventually wore on Dean, whose grin faltered some as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Let's get something straight right now," Castiel started after a moment. "You came to me, Dean Winchester. It wasn't the other way around." Dean's grin fell away completely. "So don't think you can just sit there looking all cute and I'm going to fall apart at the mere sight of you."

"Well, I-"

"You're not doing _me_ any favors," he continued. "So I suggest you consider that before you hand me your arrogant little attitude. Because it's not going to work here." Dean's mouth clamped shut, his stomach tightening at Castiel's abrupt harshness. "If you want me, you'd best show me how much. Because _I'm_ certainly not going to work for it."

He remained standing at the foot of the bed.

Dean, on the other hand, blinked as he digested the words. Initially, he didn't understand exactly what to make of them. What did Cas want him to do? He was already there, wasn't he? He'd come to the guy three times, which was practically _begging_ as far as Dean was concerned. What else could he do?

"I don't…" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Show me, Dean, what you want," Castiel repeated, his words slower. More seductive maybe, and Dean felt his stomach twist in both apprehension and anticipation. Realizing he wasn't getting it, he tried to run through his experience, attempting to figure out if there was something Cas was saying that was just going over his head. It wasn't until he focused entirely on that party night between them however that he got it.

His whole body froze.

It'd been different when he'd been drunk, giving in. It'd been less about willingness and more about obeying commands. Cas had said bend over, so he had. But now he was telling Dean to ask for it, to show him how much he wanted it, and Dean felt all his masculine insecurities come flooding back. Which hadn't at all been what he'd expected. It was strange, because he was tense, nervous even, but under that was this constant flow of erotic need.

Because he wanted to be vulnerable, he realized. He wanted Castiel to take him.

And he wanted to ask for it, no matter how emasculating doing so would be.

He knew his was blushing, appearing flustered and unable to look Cas in the eye anymore. His whole body tingled with panicked desire, the pulling contrast of it all leaving him an abruptly sweaty mess. But what was worse was that Cas was watching it all, watching him fall apart, and was just standing there.

He wasn't smirking; he wasn't enjoying it. He was just watching, expression empty.

Mostly by force. Castiel did see the struggle he was going through, and he did feel somewhat sympathetic. But he also kept in mind that this was what Dean had come to him asking for, so he'd have to get over it if they were going to get anywhere. Dean didn't strike him as the type that would appreciate comforting words, so he remained still, waiting it out with less patience than he really had.

But, finally, a look of embarrassed pain crossing his face, Dean gave in. Gulping, he gripped nervously at the sheets before slowly pulling his body down against the mattress. Until his head was in the pillows, his body twitching with nerves.

Nerves that only intensified as he gritted his teeth and pulled his knees apart. As he glanced to the side, unable to look at Cas he opened himself up completely, his legs stretched wide, revealing exactly what he wanted – even as his pride suffered for it.

As he pushed his hips up a little higher, everything he had to offer displayed for the entire room to see.

But then Cas's body was shadowing over his, the cool air of the room rushed away as he crawled up between his legs. As he lowered his lips to Dean's neck, slowly kissing his way up to his ear.

"You need to relax," he whispered, his hands messaging his chest gently. "You weren't nearly so tense last time."

"I was also drunk," Dean replied somewhat shortly, closing his eyes again as he tried to force his breathing to even out.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," Castiel offered him an out, leaning up to look down at him with the least condescendingly understanding expression he could muster.

"I'm fine, just- I'm fine," Dean assured, glancing back up at Cas. "Keep going." Because, goddammit, he knew he wanted this. He'd been thinking about it for the last week and a half. He wasn't going to chicken out because of nerves. Granted, he wasn't too thrilled about being a ball of agitated distress with Cas on top of him, but it wasn't exactly Dean Winchester's typical to get freaked out over sex either.

Yet, in the same moment, he also trusted Cas, odd as that was.

"You don't have anything to worry about," Castiel assured in-between kisses. Kisses that were slowly travelling down Dean's neck to his collar. "You're beautiful."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Dean asked, trying to get some of his flirtatious mojo back as Cas's eyes flicked forward. Leaning up, he was soon pressing his lips to Dean's, his touch both steady and firm, as if he were trying to reassure the other man through touch alone.

"I like you like this," he breathed a second later, their gazes locked as their breath splashed over one another's lips. "Don't be ashamed of it," he really did smile then. "When I say you're beautiful, I mean every word. So don't feel embarrassed," he leaned down, his kiss landing on the corner of Dean's mouth. "Because the more you want it," he murmured, "the more I want you."

His lips began to trail downward again.

Deepening his breathing as much as he could, Dean focused upward, on the canopy above their heads, willing his fingers to loosen around the sheets as Cas's lips dotted down to his chest. Long fingers were sliding over his sides, lightly enough to send shivers across his ribs. The heated touches eased him some, reminding him that he'd done this once before and there was nothing to be worried about.

Nose gliding over Dean's warm, trembling skin, Castiel breathed in his sharp scent, his own desire kept in controlled check. Dean wasn't in a position to deal with any kind of aggressive, excessively demanding experience, and Castiel wasn't about to make him feel worse by demanding something like that. This was, after all, only the second time they'd done this, the first time sober. They were still feeling each other out, so to speak.

And Castiel was definitely satisfied so far. Hands reaching up to feel down across Dean's chest, his mouth found each and every one of his tense, quivering abs, sucking on the skin lightly as he continued to scoot back down the bed. Until his lips were kissing down around his bellybutton, dark hair luring him lower, his own body dragging across Dean's extended desire until finally his nose was at the base of that shaft. At the head of the bed, he heard Dean groan, his whole body relaxing some as Castiel began to pull his lips up that extended length, his tongue dragging along as well.

Flicking his eyes up, he saw that Dean was watching him now, green eyes heavy, face slightly flushed. There was a kind of violence in his expression however. Not one of physical violence, but almost as though he were daring Castiel to keep going, demanding it with a sense of impending resolution.

One that Castiel was more than willing to give.

He felt Dean's whole body reflexively respond as he pulled that desire between his lips. Dean's hands flexed in the sheets, head falling back against the pillows again as he registered those lips pulling down around him. His hips rose instinctively to meet the touch, his eyes closing as he allowed himself to give into it all. And as Cas slowly started to suck him in and out, his tongue dragging along with the motion, he finally began to relax. Like the blood pumping down between his legs was dragging the tense energy from the rest of his body, leaving him lying in the sheets, pliable except for where Castiel was bobbing his head over him, drinking him in fully before letting him go again.

Part of him wanted to watch, to see Cas going down on him, but, perhaps, a wiser voice convinced him to simply let it happen. If he was aware of what Cas was doing, then he'd see when he moved on, and he didn't want that to set him on edge again. Granted, he could feel it, after some moments, when Cas's mouth left him exposed again, lips dotting down his length headed in other directions. But it was easier to stay relaxed about the whole thing if he just gave in.

If he let the reigns go. Granted, it wasn't the most active position to take, but his confidence wasn't there, not yet, and Cas knew it. He trusted Cas to understand. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the way he took charge anyway, or how his heavy blue eyes had remained steady through it all. There was just something about him that Dean felt he could depend on, at least in those moments.

And so he didn't allow himself to tense as Cas's lips dove down between his thighs, nor as his hands pulled back along his legs. He simply gripped at the sheets and let every sensation echo through him, pinging around and driving him closer and closer.

Castiel, relishing in having Dean's muscular thighs beneath his hands, pulled them around until he was running his fingers along their backs. Until he was leaning up, reaching out with one hand for the bottle beside them on the sheets while the other caressed Dean gently beneath that length.

And Dean, head turning to the side as he instinctively raised his hips into Cas's touch, tried to remind himself to remain composed, even as he felt Cas's teasing finger against his entrance, cool and coated and silently requesting passage. More of that "asking" business that Cas wanted Dean to indulge in. Well, what the hell, it was what it was and Dean wanted it. It was with that thought that he finally threw his insecurities out the window, his legs pulling his hips forward, asking for Cas to just do it.

He didn't have to ask twice. His whole body shot with heat as Cas pushed his first finger inside, Dean sighing into the motion, his toes curling in tandem with the way Cas stroked him. Yes, this was what he'd been wanting, what had been haunting him for so many nights. The way Cas slowly drove his touch first in and then out again, loosening Dean further and further with each motion. Legs stretching farther apart, Dean welcomed the second finger, his teeth gritting against the smooth in and out action Cas steadily pushed into him.

Sitting back on his knees, Castiel was watching it all, his eyes flicking up to Dean's face as he began to work his way into fitting a third finger. He was moderately surprised, actually, at how quickly Dean had relaxed, at least when considering how tense and uncertain he'd been at first. But the way he gasped, and the way he came up willingly to meet Castiel's touch – it revealed just how much he wanted it. He'd given up all sense of "masculinity" in that moment, handing himself over totally, offering it all so long as he got whatever thrill he could between them. His vulnerability, how he opened himself up completely, well, Castiel would be lying if he claimed it wasn't one of the biggest turn-ons he'd had in a long time. Because Dean Winchester, in all his confident glory, was losing it all at Castiel's bidding.

Was willingly taking it, Castiel driving his fingers as deeply as he could, rewarded when Dean hissed in pleasure, his mouth gaping open.

It was in that moment that he knew he had Dean completely. That he could ask anything of him and he'd do it, no questions asked. Having already prepared himself fully to take him, Castiel hooked his free hand up under Dean's knee, urging him to lift his legs. With no care to modesty or exposure, the command was followed, Dean's hips rolling him into a more accessible position, his knees pulling back as his toes curled expectantly in the air.

Removing his fingers, Castiel leaned over Dean again, one hand coming down to rest beside him on the bed while the other maneuvered his own length into position. Dean knew it was coming, his teeth biting his lower lip as Castiel teased him, just barely brushing against him, but still held at bay.

It was the moment of expectation, his focus mesmerized by the way Dean's expression slowly began to grow in desperation. Going from lip-biting anticipation to heavily breathing want. And still Castiel held back, the few moments he took to make Dean wait standing like hours between them the adrenaline was pumping so swiftly.

"Fuck Cas, what are you waiting for?" Dean asked, his voice echoing of a breathy whimper. "Just do it." How he wanted it – to be filled by Cas totally.

"Do what?" Castiel murmured, his lips coming down to softly kiss at Dean's jaw. "What do you want me to do?"

"You know what I want you to do," he replied almost shortly, his hips trying to rise to meet Cas, but unable to with his lack of leverage on the bed. "What the hell do you want me to say?"

Well, if he was going to ask.

"Beg for it," Castiel whispered in his ear, erotic elation surging through him.

"Jesus Christ," Dean practically cried, as if he were in agony, or worse. His voice had risen an octave or two, Castiel pushing kisses against his jaw again, but doing little else. "I want you to do it," Dean's hands came up to grip at Castiel's shoulders. "Please, please, just do it." He gulped, his fingers tightening desperately.

"Do what?"

"Cas! C'_mon_!" Dean's voice rose out louder, moaning against the music. "Please, I want you inside me! I want you! I _need_ you! Cas, please!"

"How badly do you want it?"

"Ugh, Cas, Cas, I want it all! I want you! I want- I- _please_!"

And so he got it.

Arms holding him steady on the bed, Castiel pushed his way past that waiting, heated entrance, his own body surging with pleasure as he pressed against Dean's tight hold around him. Below, his whole body arching into the received plunge, Dean gasped out loudly, a groan that slowly became a craving moan. His legs tightened around Castiel, holding him close as his hands found anchors on Castiel's shoulders. Knees scraping against the sheets, Castiel gritted his teeth as he drove himself as deeply into Dean as he could, groaning softly himself as the friction slid against his own desire.

He didn't pause, no, he wanted it again, and so he worked them immediately into a slow pattern. A rhythm his hips obeyed, plunging him inside again and again, their rocking echoed in the way Dean breathed. His breath hitched at every thrust, his perfectly rounded lips falling open as his body wreathed against the sheets. His eyebrows pulled together, his gasps eventually becoming whimpered moans. A noise that hit its high at every completed plunge Castiel drove into him.

Sweat covered skin slapping together, Castiel increased the tempo, his own control beginning to falter as he gave into the carnal wont his body was pressuring into him. He wanted Dean, more than anything in that moment. To have him totally, touch him completely. All of him. Reaching one hand back, he wrapped it around Dean's length, working it into their motions as Dean moaned loudly out beneath him.

Faster, he wanted it faster, and deeper. Castiel wanted to be swallowed by Dean, the way his muscular legs clamped down on him, how his hands gripped forcefully at his shoulders. He was so tight, flexing around him, and Castiel increased his thrusting, if only so he could keep reliving the plunge over and over.

Dean knew he was going to hit the edge first. It didn't matter how long he could last when he was with a woman, this was totally different. He was barely holding on, each thrust like an added layer of hot desperation that pushed him closer and closer. He didn't even try and hold himself steady. Like a man desperate to fly, he let it all go, crying out uncontrollably as he was thrown over the cliff. As Castiel shoved him, the back of his head dragging against the pillows as he felt it all rush forth. A floodgate let loose.

The moments that followed were white, every feeling in Dean's body numb except for the way he and Cas moved together. He was finished, he knew that, even as the echo of it spread through him like lightning. Yet, like he was drowning, every sensation moving through him seemed magnified. The sweat that rolled, the skin that was sticky friction between them. Hands heavy yet charged, he dragged them up along Cas's shoulders to his neck, his eyes open and taking in the flashes of Cas's throat above him. The way his lips were parted, Dean caressing his jaws as Cas continued to drive into him. His eyes were closed tight, the steady expression of sensual elation oddly striking. An image Dean knew would be burned into his memory, just as every thrust and release would be.

"Cas," he whispered up to him, the world around them foggy, only the two of them clear. Still Dean gently held him, framing that pleasured expression. Pleasure that Cas was getting from his body.

"D-Dean," he groaned out, his hips rocking quicker all the time. More erratically, his form beginning to collapse. "God, Dean!"

His arms were giving out, shaking and weak as his thrusting started to become choppy. Dean could feel it all, his legs wrapping around Cas more fully, if only to try and support him. Their foreheads leaned against one another, Dean hardly allowing himself to blink as he watched Cas unravel, as his plunges became uneven jerks that spilled inside him. That overflowed, filling Dean with all the heat Cas had built up for him.

Like he wanted it all to be as deeply swept through Dean as possible, Cas thrust weakly through the final throws of his climax, pushing hard as Dean pulled him willingly in. Held him against his body, even as Cas lost his strength and collapsed totally atop him. As his thrusting became but a twitch and then nothing. Until they were but two connected bodies molded together, Cas's nose buried in Dean's neck as he gripped at his hair. As wave after wave of aftermath rushed through them like the tide, hitting the beach before crashing back.

Water in a pool that took time to settle, ripples buzzing through them even as the waves calmed.

Eventually, Dean's muscles gave out. Breathing still heavy, he collapsed totally on the bed, his legs shaking messes that hit the sheets. Cas slid out of him in the same moment, yet still remained lying atop him. Silent, the constant playing of Fleetwood Mac echoed around them, neither able to fully listen. Or care to.

Yet still it played on –

_"Listen to the wind blow_  
><em>Down comes the night<em>  
><em>Run in the shadows<em>  
><em>Damn your love<em>  
><em>Damn your lies"<em>

They lay there for a while, though neither really knew for how long. It wasn't until Dean's phone rang in his jean's pocket that they were gradually pulled from their reverie. It sang for but a moment, Dean registering it as a text. Slowly, the thought of it dragged him back into reality, his life and the fact that there was more to it than the man on top of him.

"Cas," his gruff voice returned to him, the fact that he'd been moaning out notes typically too high for him to reach having left it in a state of some difficulty. "Cas, I need to check my phone." He tapped him lightly on the back, spurring him into action as well.

Pulling himself up, Castiel ignored how their skin peeled away, the chill of the room assaulting him as he sat back between Dean's legs. Sitting up as well, Dean pulled his feet up and around, scooting to the edge of the bed. Sliding over the side, he sat fully, reaching down for his jeans. He didn't look back at Cas as the bed lifted behind him, hinting that the other man had gotten to his feet. He forced his focus to his phone, reading the text from Jo that was splashed across his screen.

"**Where are you? It's almost eleven. Are you alright?**"

Dean frowned. He should have been over to Ellen's a long time ago to pick up Sam. Hopefully he hadn't sent anyone into too much of a panic.

"**Sorry,**" he sent back. "**I got caught up in something. I'll be there in about half an hour.**" He still had to get dressed, and then sneak back over the fence to his car, which was parked some ways down the street. And then drive to Ellen's. It was all seeming like far too much in that moment.

"Here," Cas sat down beside him a moment later, Dean glancing up to see a fluffy white towel held out to him. One that Cas then gently rubbed against his chest. Reaching out for it, Dean took if from him, continuing to wipe himself down as Cas sat back on the bed, watching him.

It wasn't exactly awkward, for which Dean was thankful. There was something hanging between them, but how could there not be after what they'd just done? Whatever it was, it remained unspoken, Dean bypassing it for another subject.

He cleared his throat. "So, I have to go," he finally glanced back up Cas, naked and still watching him. "I have to… pick up my little brother. I actually should have been there a long time ago."

"Was that him texting you?" Cas asked, not appearing offended by Dean's intention to dash.

"Well, no, but that's what it was about," he somewhat lied. He didn't see the point in going into detail. Standing, he ignored how his backside faced Cas, and how stickiness ran down the backs of his legs. Instead, he continued cleaning himself up as best he could, Cas's eyes continually on him.

"So, yeah," he turned to face the other man once he'd deemed it good enough, those blue eyes flicking up to his. "This…" he gestured between them with one finger, "probably won't happen like this again." Cas cocked an eyebrow. "At this time I mean," he corrected. "I work from three to nine Monday through Thursday, so I usually have to pick my brother up after that. He can't be home… alone…" Okay, so maybe he was going into a little more detail than he'd intended.

"Okay," Castiel shrugged, apparently having nothing else to say on the matter. Which left them to stare at each other in the silence.

Dean didn't handle silence all that well.

"Here," he tossed the towel at Cas, who caught it with quick reflexes. "That belongs to you." The double meaning in his words didn't go unnoticed, the smile on his lips hinting it enough for Cas to purse his own in sarcastic amusement. "And, ah," Dean looked to the bed, "I can help you… clean up… if you-"

"Just go," Cas waved him off, Dean having reached down for his boxers before pulling them on. "I got this."

"Sure," Dean nodded, slipping his jeans on next before pulling his t-shirt out from under the bed. Cas never moved from his position at the edge of the bed, watching every move Dean made until he was lastly shoving his feet into his boots.

"I'll, uh, call you," Dean decided.

"You don't have my number," Cas reminded.

"Well I guess I'm asking for it then," Dean clarified, the fact that he was actually getting someone else's number rubbing him a bit the wrong way. Not that Cas would know that. But he had the feeling that if he didn't do the asking, Cas was never going to.

"Give me your phone," Cas demanded, holding out his hand. Giving it to him, Dean watched as he punched his number into the contacts before handing it back. Casting him a short grin, Dean placed the contraption back into his pocket before glancing around. "I'll walk you back out," Cas finally stood then, still naked but looking around for something to cover himself with.

"Nah, don't bother," Dean winked, backing around the bed toward the doors to the balcony. "I'll let myself out." Pushing his way through, his actions drew Cas's attention, forcing him to follow as Dean headed out into the Texas air. By the time he was outside as well, Cas spotted him climbing over the ledge, grasping the banister as his feet held him steady on the edge.

"Hey," Cas drew his focus, Dean looking up at him questioningly as he approached. Gabbing him by the front of his shirt collar, Cas tugged him into leaning over the rail, his lips meeting Dean's rather aggressively. The kiss was short, but deep, Dean responding in kind before Cas shoved him back again. "Just something to remember me by."

"I don't think I needed that to remember you," Dean joked, throwing around that careless smile of his. Saluting as a last farewell, he slipped down the banister, Cas leaning over to watch as he hung only a moment by one hand before letting go. Landing in a crouch on the steps below, he wavered for just a second before catching his balance. Looking back up, he was still smiling, Cas leaning his head in his hand as he watched.

Jumping out into the yard, Dean turned one last time and bowed elaborately before finally turning tail and dashing out across the yard, into the darkness.

Waving lazily, Cas stared out for a moment - after Dean has disappeared - with one thought going through his head.

What, exactly, had he gotten himself into?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** No reviews at all? Is story not good? :(


	4. You Help Me and I'll Help You

**Dust in the Wind**

"_You're asking me will my love grow__  
><em>_I don't know, I don't know__  
><em>_You stick around now it may show__  
><em>_I don't know, I don't know"_

_**Something – The Beatles**_

**Chapter 4: You Help Me and I'll Help You**

"Who're you texting?" Garth was leaning rather invasively over Dean's shoulder, his bulbous nose alerting the other man to his presence before his words did.

"No one," Dean shied away, lips tightening as he shielded his phone from the other man's wandering eyes. "Can't a guy text in peace?" Charlie was sitting on his other side, a smug little smirk gracing her lips as she leaned back against the brick.

"You've been on that thing almost nonstop all week," Garth had narrowed his eyes, apparently feeling put off by Dean's recent texting developments. "And it's never one of us that you're texting," which would have been made obvious when they were all together. "Who else could you be talking to?"

"Um, outside the four of you?" He was including Benny and Jo even though they were in class. "I don't know, how about every other possible person on the entire planet?" His sarcasm ended with a biting snap, Garth pursing his lips as though injured as he leaned away again. Pulling his joint to his lips, he eyed Dean with continual suspicion as he smoked.

Dean, however, wasn't concerned. Rather, Cas was finally texting him back, a phenomenon that Dean had realized over the week didn't happen that often. Granted, Dean wasn't the best about texting either, but when he went out of his way to get someone's attention, he expected a timely response. Not one three hours later. And that consisted of only the unasmused emoji face, all frowny and unimpressed.

Now, Dean used plenty of emojis. He'd realized that women found it cute and endearing. However, all Cas _ever_ seemed to send were emojis. Like he couldn't be bothered to actually type a response. As it were, he must have a boring class last period, because Dean had finally managed to lure something a little more substantial out of him.

"**Seriously, we should get together tonight. I haven't seen you since Monday,**" outside of class that was (because he'd been going to English Lit pretty regularly that week). Dean placed in a winky face.

"**Busy,**" Cas typed back, adding a swimmer emoji afterward.

"**You have practice on Fridays?**" The one day Dean didn't have to work, and that Sam had his after school physics club or something. His brother didn't need to be picked up until six, in any case.

"**Every day,**" Cas elaborated slightly more. "**Big meet tomorrow.**"

"**You're so dedicated,**" Dean didn't mean it as a compliment. "**Well, when do you get done? I wouldn't mind helping you dry off, if you know what I mean.**" Yeah, he typed back with the kissy, heart-blowing emoji, so-the-fuck what?

"**Dinner with parents after,**" Cas explained, the unamused emoji making another appearance. Dean practically sank against the wall at that, feeling quite as though he were getting nowhere with this conversation. Beside him, Charlie snickered, and Garth was still looking at him suspiciously. He ignored them both, his frustration far more distracting.

He tried to come up with a time. One that he thought would meet Cas's apparently very sex-rejecting schedule. Unfortunately, Dean worked afternoons to evenings that weekend, so while he'd be free earlier, Cas would be at his meet Saturday. He supposed there was Saturday night, but then he'd have to find something to do with Sam. He was already dropping him off at Kevin's after he got out of his physics club that very day.

Maybe Sunday. He proposed the idea.

"**Church,**" was all Cas said to that, though he did include the angel with halo emoji.

"**Church? You?**" Dean actually did laugh out loud, startling his two somewhat high friends as he poked at his phone. "**Man, no offense, but you're definitely going to Hell.**" As if to imply why, he selected one of the purple, demon faces, the one with the devilish smile. He thought it reflected his influence quite accurately.

The only thing he got as a response was the naughty emoji – similar to the unamused one, but with a hooked smirk instead of a frown.

None of this solved Dean's problem however.

"**There's a party tonight,**" he started to type then, only vaguely registering how the bell rang inside the school, signaling the end of the day. "**Late, probably after you have dinner with your parents. Can you come to that?**" He could probably get Cas alone in a room somewhere, preferably not a bathroom. Nowhere near ideal, but he hadn't hooked-up at parties previously because it was difficult.

Much to his chagrin however, he didn't get a response. Instead, his lips frowning as the minutes passed, he was eventually interrupted by Benny and Jo as they, and all the other students, filed out the doors. Stuffing his phone in his pocket, Dean tried to focus in on what they were talking about, but found his sour disposition only worsening as the seconds ticked by.

"Where do the swimmers practice?" he asked abruptly, interrupting whatever it was his friends had been talking about. Cut into an awkward silence, they all looked his way curiously, only Charlie shaking her head and clearing her throat before they could pick up on her knowing attitude.

"At the pool I suppose," Jo answered after a moment, the insulting sarcasm in her voice hardly affecting Dean as he nodded along to the logic of this conclusion. Without a word, he turned and headed along the wall and back into the school, his four friends scrambling after in surprise at his abrupt departure.

The pool was on the west side, beside the gym, and didn't take long to get to. Pushing the doors open, Dean glanced down the corridor that led inside, surprised at the violin music that seemed to be emerging from the room beyond. And not symphonic violin music, but solo, and maybe even real.

Furrowing his brows, Dean walked on through, turning the corner to the brightly lit room (there were windows allowing light to filter in on one side) before spotting the source of the noise.

Four people, not the whole swim team. Balthazar was on his phone, sitting cross-legged beside the pool; Gabriel was there as well, a camcorder held up in his hands as he laid back before Anna, filming no doubt; and the redhead herself was poised a few feet from the edge of the water, a violin in her hands that she slid into a graceful, skilled melody – without the aid of sheet music.

The last figure was in the pool, shooting through the water with smooth, propelling skill like a fish flying beneath the waves.

Dean didn't spend much time preoccupied by the other three, whatever poolside habits they had quickly becoming none of his business. Instead, he marched his way confidently to the far side of the pool, his eyes trained on that tan, muscled back heading through the middle with evened pace.

"Dean, what-" Jo's voice cut off as they entered after him, their eyes going immediately to Anna, who faltered some in her playing upon realizing she had an audience. She went on bravely however, her gaze flicking to Dean after a second, who was bent down at the top edge of the pool, waiting for the oblivious Cas to reach him.

"Ah, look, spectators," Gabriel was spinning on the ground, his legs pulling him around like an upside-down crab. He still had his camera up, filming the four who'd slowed upon coming in. They were paused, Charlie smiling to herself as she stared down at the floor, Jo and Garth watching Dean, and Benny with his eyes trained on Anna. Who didn't know he was watching her because she was watching Dean – still playing – her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

After a moment, Gabriel's camera went to Dean as well, the film taking in how he reached out to the water. Having touched the poolside, Cas's back was exposed, allowing Dean to tap him lightly from where he was crouched.

None of the others could hear what they were saying.

"Hey," Dean muttered quietly, glancing up only quickly to make sure everyone else in the room was remaining at bay. He trusted Charlie to keep back any who approached.

Bobbing up in the water, Castiel pulled his thin goggles up into his hair, his other hand wiping down his face as he blinked up at Dean. Treading water, he sniffed, unaccustomed to being interrupted.

"Do you always practice all by yourself?" Dean smirked, is tone just barely above a whisper.

"No," Cas shook his head, reaching out and taking hold of the edge of the pool. To give the rest of him a break. "Just Mondays and Fridays."

"Are you saying you rejected me for an optional commitment?" Even so, he was smiling, Cas finally catching his breath enough to linger some on amusement. Mostly that Dean would go so out of his way to come looking for him.

"I'm not the best for nothing," he replied, able to make out Anna's constant violin playing, which told him they were far from being alone. "You should attempt something similar, hard work that is."

"I work plenty hard," Dean assured, quite certain of the fact.

"What do you want?"

"Did you get my last text?" Because, really, that was all he'd come to get clarification on.

"I suppose I didn't," Cas decided, able to assume that if he had, he'd know to what Dean was referring. Dean, who was poised so close above him with those pretty lips and long lashes, freckles transparently clear against the reflection of the water. Cas was beginning to drown himself there, counting each little spot quite against his own control.

"There's a party tonight, over on Milford," Dean explained, voice still low. "Dinner with your parents or not, your ass better be there." He was smiling again, Cas taking in the creases at the corners of his lips, and his pointed canines, which seemed to add a slightly more impish quality to his otherwise angelic features. Because that was what they were, really. Symmetrical, open, beautiful. Clad in this façade of flirtatiously bad manners.

"I'll see what I can do," Cas decided, his feet swimming out behind him. "You should realize, Dean Winchester, that you're not the highest item on my priority list." Something Cas tried to tell himself despite how his stomach jumped at the idea of meeting Dean later that evening.

"I'm betting that's not true," he winked, Castiel pursing his lips in feigned disapproval. "Don't disappointment me now Cas. I might just have to show up on your doorstep again." He stood, his green eyes seeming to slowly tear from Cas's, going behind him to the group watching the exchange. Cas turned back to them as well, not sure what to think of the seven pairs of watching eyes.

Both deciding it was best to leave the exchange with nothing in the sense of farewell, Dean walked off while Cas sunk back into the pool, intent on pretending the visit had been merely social without any heavier connotations or promises.

Aware of the way Gabriel's camera followed him, Dean glared as he approached, the man behind the lens smiling.

"What were you two talkin' about?" Gabriel inquired snakily, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. "I bet I can gather a guess."

Dean glared harder.

"We're in the same lit class," he rebuked, the defense perhaps sounding more feasible coming from any other mouth but his own, which he seemed to realize just as well as everyone else. "I skipped," he threw out one of his trademark smiles, as if that would make it all credible. "Wanted to know what I missed."

"Ah, no homo then," Gabriel said quite unashamedly, Dean doing his best to remain unaffected by the remark while Balthazar clearly coughed up a laugh, not nearly as invested in his phone as he was pretending to be. "My mistake. Must have been the eye-sex that was throwing me off."

"Sure Gabriel," Dean rebuked, trying to remind himself that Gabriel was always making similarly snide comments to nearly everyone and that Dean getting even remotely upset would spell out more than anything the truth behind what he was saying. "Whatever lights your fire."

"You have no idea," Gabriel replied, Dean considerably more aware that he was being recorded than he might have been otherwise, ultimately deciding that the best thing he could do was leave. Trying to look as innocently normal as possible, he headed back the way he'd come, his friends following close behind with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Since when are you all chatty with Castiel Novak?" the three left behind heard Garth asking in the hall.

"Am I suddenly not allowed to have any other friends?" was Dean's irritated reply as the door slammed closed behind them.

Violin coming into silence, Anna, Gabriel, and Balthazar all looked at one another, their gazes then simultaneously going to Castiel, who was doing his regular back and forths across the pool again.

Assaulted by abrupt irritation, Anna placed her violin carefully atop its case before stomping her way to the back end of the pool, where Castiel was just about to flip around again. Instead, she grabbed him by the shoulder, causing him to sputter and turn at her harsh treatment.

"Why do I keep getting interrupted?" he asked angrily, breathing heavily and getting somewhat annoyed that his rounds were being jarred. He'd never get in his regular workout at this rate.

"What's going on between you and Dean Winchester?" she asked heatedly, Gabriel and Balthazar crouching down on either side of her. "I mean, I figured something happened between you two before, but now this? What's going on?" Though she was angry about the secrecy, her mood was mostly spurred by worry. She hadn't told Castiel she'd texted Dean, and had figured the problem was solved. Well, apparently not.

"Excuse me?" Castiel deadpanned, uncertain of how to react. He knew his friends had their suspicions, or in the case of Gabriel, their "certainties," but he didn't really want to talk about it. Mostly because, well, what would he even say? "Yeah, Dean and I are sleeping together, but that's it." Anna would be angry, he knew that, and even though it wasn't really any of her business, he did feel guilty.

She'd been born of an affair, of carelessness, and though no such thing would result from him and Dean, that didn't change the sentiment of it – the fact that both of their childhoods had been destroyed by flippant sexual acts. By participating in this thing with Dean, Castiel was throwing to the side many truths they'd shared between one another.

Honestly, Castiel wasn't even sure why he'd agreed to Dean's proposal, even then. Well, that wasn't exactly true, he knew _why_, but that didn't justify it. He was a little confused, maybe, which justified his lack of forward progress in meeting Dean's persistence. Every time he saw the other man, his heart raced a little faster, his head flooded a bit with clouds. Maybe it was rash, but he was finding it more and more difficult to consider saying "no."

Because he liked Dean.

"You and him," Anna repeated. "What's going on between you? When Gabriel and I gave you that lube, it was supposed to be a joke. And I didn't really believe you'd used it. But did you? What did Dean say to you just now?" He could see her anger building already, his lips pursing against the sickly butterflies perching in his stomach. "He's a bad idea, whatever it is that happened." Whether it was something as innocent as kissing or as dirty as what they'd actually done. Twice.

"Nothing's happened between us," Castiel lied, looking sheepish for quite different reasons than maybe he was pretending. He didn't handle being yelled at very well, or spoken strongly to, by people close to him. It wasn't that he somehow avoided confrontation, but that he simply preferred to forgo it when it came to the people important to him, though few they may be. Throwing punches at Dean was one thing; disappointing Anna was quite another. "We're just friends…"

Maybe it was the way he shied away from them, or the meekness with which he spoke, but Anna's demeanor seemed to drop some. Like she might believe him, which only made him feel worse.

"Dean Winchester? Friends?" Gabriel wasn't buying it though, his doubt not entirely helpful. But, then again, his opinions were always taken with a sprinkling of skepticism by all listening. "Yeah, I get the feeling he's getting something out of this whole thing. Winchester doesn't just go out of his way to be real friends with anyone." Besides his regular posse. "Seriously, what did he say to you?"

"Nothing," Castiel continued to claim. Obviously, what he was saying wasn't true, even Anna – despite having lowered her ferocity – looking at him with an air of impatient expectation. Lips pursing, Castiel supposed he had to give in. To keep denying would only make it all worse anyway. "He was just telling me about a party tonight," he explained. "We'd been talking about it earlier, in class, and he was telling me where it was."

Yes, it was kind of true, but still weak. Still not the _entire_ truth.

Except that, unbeknownst to Castiel, his story didn't match up with the one Dean had given. Which made it clear that one of them was, in fact, blatantly lying (or both, be it as it were).

"So…" Gabriel's eyes were squinted. "He came all the way here… to…"

Castiel felt a wave of irritation overtake him.

"Yeah, I guess," he decided shortly, pulling his goggles back down over his eyes. "Are we done discussing this?" It wasn't actually a question, despite how Anna looked as though she wanted to object. "Because I'd like to finish my practice, thanks." Turning away, he forced the conversation to come to a close, the water flushing in on him as he swam away.

He knew his friends were staring after him, but chose not to acknowledge as much. Though he felt guilty, he also felt it wasn't any of their business.

It was his body after all, and he could do with it as he pleased.

**oOo**

Dean was frustrated. Granted, he'd been frustrated all day, but it was really beginning to show. Arms crossed over his chest, he was leaning against the back living room wall, eyes hardly registering the way people paced back and forth, some with red cups, others with glass bottles. It was nearing midnight and Cas had yet to show up. To say Dean was beginning to lose his nerve was a bit of an understatement.

Because playing hard to get was one thing and being a total douche was quite another.

They _had_ come to an agreement after all. Dean knew he hadn't gone about it in the most graceful fashion, but he didn't think he deserved to be totally ignored as… as what? Some kind of game? Cas had said he didn't play games, but maybe he was the type to say one thing and then do another. Which would seriously lower Dean's ability to like the guy. And if what they were doing was really something he wasn't interested in, he should have said so. Sure, Dean had been persistent, but he'd made it clear that he'd leave the subject alone so long as Cas was still set on rejecting him.

Yet there he stood, having vetoed two possible "fun adventures" because he'd promised Cas he wouldn't fool around while _they_ were fooling around. If he ever got to "fool around" again at all.

"You're a real sour-puss tonight," Jo commented beside him, a frown creasing her face as she raised her beer to her lips. "I don't think I've ever seen you look so miserable at a party." Dean didn't reply, instead allowing his body to hunch some as he glared out at the room. Normally he wouldn't ever be found alone and acting aloof – Jo was the only person with him – but his deteriorating mood had actually managed to drive others away.

His lack of response managed to irritate his friend as well, her eyes rolling before she turned and walked away, leaving him with his dark cloud totally by himself. Which he stayed sulking under for some minutes, cursing Cas in as many different ways as he could imagine.

He'd occasionally looked down at his phone to get the time, only growing more and more annoyed when the minutes kept ticking.

12:34

12:41

12:48.

But then, as he looked up from 12:52, he saw him.

Gabriel had come in first, looking around with that arrogant little smirk he always wore, and was welcomed by nearly every group in the room. Milford was a more middleclass location, which meant the party was more centered on drinking than heavy drugs, yet marijuana was still a hefty commodity, so Gabriel and his black bag were a celebrated sight.

Cas came in after him, expression cold. Too cold even, and had Dean been thinking of anything but his own frustration the last five or so hours, he might have noticed. As it were, he watched Cas with focused intent – chirring with things quite beside any facial expression.

Their eyes met as Cas turned out of the doorway, his paces pausing for just a moment before he pulled his gaze elsewhere, his feet carrying him sharply to the right as he headed deliberately along the far side of the room. Pushing himself away from the wall, Dean kept him in his sights as he began to filter forward through the crowd. He shoved his way past dancers and between cliques, not a single consideration knocking into his head besides where Cas was headed.

Out of the living room to the hall, a set of stairs at the end. Cas, his dark jeans leading, headed up them, Dean climbing the first step as Cas was hitting the top. People stood along the sides, some calling out to Dean, most seeming to get in the way. Beer still in hand, he veered around them, neck stretching to keep Cas in sight.

There were less people as they made their way down another hall, Cas disappearing into the shadows of a doorway and out of Dean's sight.

A second later, a rather flustered looking couple came stumbling out, the boy attempting to button his pants while a girl pulled down her shirt. They were staring at the door with a look of disgruntled shock, Dean smiling to himself as he slowed to watch them head off down the hall. Once they were clearly gone and no one else seemed to be paying attention, Dean set his beer on a nearby end table and pushed his way into the room.

Eyes blinking against the darkness, he closed the door behind him, able to make out a window on the far side and what looked like a bed to the right. A dresser or something on the left, little else able to be made out.

And then Cas was blocking his view entirely, intense blue eyes staring him down as he was pushed into the door, hands gripping his shoulders before lips were pressing harshly onto his own.

The heat came rushing between them, Dean already registering the way his blood plummeted downward as he breathed into the kiss, which was really more carnal than the label seemed to imply. Cas pulled at his mouth, already bruising as he sucked Dean's bottom lip between his own. As he bit softly, Dean hissing before leaning down to capture Cas's mouth fully again. It was sloppy, demanding, and Dean's hands were reaching around Cas's back to pull him closer, their chests colliding.

Dean could feel Cas's tongue pressing forward, sliding along his teeth. The smell of marijuana was there, strong, and it was only in that moment that Dean realized it wasn't the party that smelled so, but Cas. He'd been smoking before getting there, Dean only taking vague note of the fact as he wrestled back against the kiss, his own tongue fighting for control.

Cas wasn't giving in however. As if taking offense to Dean meeting his rough response, he only became more empowered. Soon his hands were trailing down Dean's sides, hips, reaching back and gripping at his back pockets. Flinching some at the way he tightened his hold, Dean growled, his own hands gripping at the back of Cas's sweater in a way he hoped inflicted the same amount of light pain.

And then Cas had him by the backs of his thighs, shoving him harder into the door as he lifted his legs. Dean was, again, a little surprised, and tensed. But Cas was more then strong enough to hold him up, Dean's legs wrapping around his waist as they continued to heatedly explore each other's mouths.

And then Cas was moving his hips, rolling them in-between Dean's thighs. Through their jeans they both felt how they wanted one another, Dean's hands rising to Cas's shoulders as he pulled that thick top lip between his teeth.

And then Cas was kissing him lower, hands flexing against Dean's thighs as he dragged his mouth to Dean's neck. As he began to sensually suck the skin there, Dean realizing a little too late what he was doing. He scowled, both turned on and angry that Cas would mark him, unable to find the strength to push him away as he felt the pull on his skin grow stronger. Until it hurt and he growled out in irritation.

But then Cas was moving on, Dean momentarily sated until he started doing it again.

Dean gritted his teeth. "Hey!" he let out in irritation. "I have to go out in public ya know!" His objection didn't get any response out of Cas, which only angered him further. To the point that his temper flared just slightly above how much he wanted the man marring him. "Seriously!" he struggled, his legs loosening Cas's hold on him. "Cut it out!"

Shoving him by the shoulders, he pushed Cas away, his feet dropping back to the ground as they were ripped apart. Reaching up, Dean laid his hand against his neck, feeling the two swollen bites of skin there. Yeah, those were definitely visible. He didn't need light or a mirror to know that.

"Goddammit Cas," he flicked his attention up to the shadow breathing heavily before him. "Was that really necessary?" Cas was reaching out toward him again however, apparently not caring much about Dean's foul opinion on the subject. His hands found Dean's sides, lips once again pressing to Dean's in the darkness. But a repeat of what had just occurred was not in the cards. Not for Dean anyway. Taking Cas by the shoulders, he gripped him tight, kissing back only shortly before turning them both harshly and shoving the other man into the wall beside the door.

Cas grunted, fingers sliding against Dean's t-shirt as Dean dragged his lips down. Still annoyed, he decided to give Cas a taste of his own medicine, his mouth beginning to suck rather harshly just below his jaw. Sucking until he bit, Dean's teeth nipped hard enough for Cas to gasp and try to push him off. But Dean didn't give in, continuing with the pressure until Cas actually pulled back and hit him in the side.

Huffing, Dean stumbled a step, a snarl etched into his face as he flicked his eyes up to Cas, who was glaring at him in the darkness, blue eyes flashing in the vague light from the window. The look there – somewhat wild and frustrated – reminded Dean of the night he'd met Cas out in the field. He'd been out of control then, upset about something. Dean got the feeling this was no different.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed out. "Other than the fact that you're high as a fucking kite!" This was not how he'd hoped Cas would show up to the party to say the least. Dean could be rough and tumble sometimes when it came to sex, but angry violence tended to turn him off, if the way his mood was dropping was proof of anything.

"Fuck you," Cas finally spoke, his voice deep and scratchy. "You're an asshole!"

"You're the one that wants to start something," Dean accused, aware that when he said "something," it wasn't the "something" either one of them would enjoy. "What happened to you?!"

"Nothing!" Cas bit back, shoving himself off the wall. "It's none of your business. As long as you get a good fuck, you don't care."

Dean blinked, unsure what to make of that.

"That's why I'm here, right?" Cas continued harshly. "So don't ask about anything else! It's none of your goddamn business!"

"Hey, you didn't have to agree to this," Dean tried to keep his voice somewhat low despite his anger. "If you don't want to do this, then we don't have to!" Dean was about ready to throw the whole thing out the window as it were, pissed as he was. 'Course he'd regret it later, but that was hardly the point.

"Yeah, right," Cas scoffed cynically. "That's why you kept coming back to me about it." The way he said as much, though insulting on its own, held a pompous kind of knowing, which really infuriated Dean.

"Fuck you Cas," he threw back. "If you don't want this, then we're done. I've been doing just fine without you, so don't think your rich-kid, I'm better than everyone, full of myself attitude is going to bother me." Cas's eyes narrowed into slits. "You don't mean anything to me." Which should have been obvious when considering their arrangement, but that didn't mean such things should be said out loud.

Cas didn't have an immediate response, the silence that wedged between them heavier than any of the words they'd tossed carelessly around the room. Because that was what they'd been. Disgusting attempts by both of them to hurt the other, maybe for no reason. Maybe because pain was easier to dole out than deal with.

It was in moments such as these that Cas found his legs getting restless, the walls closing in. He stared at Dean for a moment longer, part of him wanting to stay. But it wasn't strong enough. He had to get out of there. Before everything caved in; before he couldn't breathe anymore.

Without a word, he turned and pulled open the door. Not making any move to stop him, Dean watched as he vanished around the corner, his feet frozen. Part of him surged forward, as if wanting to reach out and stop him. But Dean's stubbornness over the exchange, his temper, didn't allow it. He stood alone inside the foreign bedroom, his brain caught in a kind of standstill that was only able to work its way into moving as the room seemed to cool – as his own frustration came surging back.

Reaching up and laying a hand on his neck again, Dean scowled, finally able to push through his anger and realize just how let down he was. Part of him tried to argue that he was partially to blame, that he should have handled it better. But then he'd register the tightness still trapped his jeans and he'd push that away. Cas had issues, apparently, and it wasn't his job to deal with then. If the guy was going to act that way, then it wasn't his problem.

Fuck him. Fuck the whole thing.

Repeating such sentiments to himself, Dean managed to spiral himself into a worse mood as the night wore on. Until, when it became apparent he didn't want to talk to anyone and no one wanted to talk to him, he ducked out and walked along the street to his car, which he'd parked far enough away so as not to get stuck between anyone. Ignoring the way the party raged on behind him, he went home alone, to his empty trailer since Sam was staying at Kevin's, and tried to sleep. After a cold shower, which did little in the way of actually helping him.

He dreamt of dark rooms and blue eyes, and woke up more often than he remembered. He rose and went about his day – picked up Sam, went to work. Heard nothing from Cas. Went to bed in as foul a mood as he had Friday. Until, finally, early Sunday light streaming in through his windows, he was awakened by the sound of his phone shortly ringing. A text message, he knew, and from only one person. Because he'd given Cas his own ringtone (to separate his sex-friend from his normal friends, okay?! That was the only reason!).

He told himself he wanted to ignore it, but when it rang again a few minutes later, the temptation became too much. Wearing just a pair of slacks, he sat up, grumpy and irritated, and grabbed his phone from his end table.

He read the messages with pursed lips.

"**Sorry,**" was all the first one said, Dean quickly moving his focus to the next one.

"**I mean it,**" the second started. "**The way I acted on Friday was inappropriate and you didn't deserve that.**" Short by regular standards, but Dean had learned over the past week that, when taking Cas's texting habits into consideration, such a message was actually a considerable length. Still, he wasn't won over that easily.

Which was why all he sent back here ellipsis.

Flopping back on his bed, he took in the time at 7:23, his phone resting on his chest as he waited. He could hear Sam out in the kitchen, probably getting breakfast. Always was an early riser.

A satisfied smirk pulled at his lips when no more than a few minutes passed before his phone rang again.

"**I was dealing with some stuff and I took it out on you. Like I did before. It won't happen again. I'll make it up to you.**"

Dean sighed, considering for a moment what to say before beginning to type. Because he wasn't, after all, a total jerk. Cas was a person like any other, and Dean was a compassionate guy. Which he figured justified any concern. Cas wasn't any different than anyone else.

"**What happened?**"

"**I don't want to talk about it. Please.**"

Dean frowned. "**Fine.**" He wasn't going to push it. But he also wasn't going to add much else. Cas had said he'd make it up to him after all. So he waited.

"**I know you have to work later,**" Cas sent back rather quickly. "**I have to be at church at eight, but that hardly means I have to stay.**" And though Dean took his time getting back to him, he already knew what he'd say. Getting dressed and brushing his hair before finally satisfying Cas with a response, he replied with a simple "**okay**" before going about getting himself breakfast.

"**I'll be out back,**" Cas replied shortly following. "**In the garden.**"

Dean laughed a little at that, but didn't comment. Rather, glancing at the time, he saw that it was already coming up on eight, meaning that the sooner he got around to leaving, the sooner he'd see Cas. Though he'd gotten an apology, he debated over whether he should still be mad or not as he headed out the door to his car (ushering Sam as well, who he'd drop off at Ellen's. Kid wanted to know where he was going, but Dean refused to elaborate). Ultimately, however, he decided that Cas's apology was enough. Dude had been dealing with something and, well, Dean's excitement over finally getting some time with him may have swayed his sentiments a bit.

Dropping Sam off first – he would have ended up at Ellen's when Dean went to work anyway – he began his hunt.

There were quite a few notable churches in town, but Dean knew just as well as anyone that there was only one that those such as the Novak's would attend. Large and funded by the pockets of the richest in town, it sat behind a large parking lot like a multi-storied conglomerate of editions and soaring crosses. Dean parked the Impala at the farthest edge, aware that it went against everything he was to be seen at such a place. Thankfully, there weren't too many people around, most already inside. And those that weren't were too busy socializing to pay attention to the young man stepping out of he classic car.

Green eyes searching, Dean ignored the front entrance, instead scanning the grounds around the parking lot for any clues that would lead him to Cas. To the sides of the building there appeared to be a fence, a generous number of bushes and trees blocking the view to the other side. Spotting a gate on the far left, Dean stepped up into the grass and headed that way. Looking around only quickly once he reached it to make sure no one was watching him, he pushed his way through, latching it back down again behind him.

To say the garden was impressive was a bit of an understatement. Dean wasn't much in the know when it came to greenery, but it didn't take a professional to realize that someone had put a generous amount of effort and expertise into the layout behind the church. Pebbled paths wove in and out, a variety of bushes and trees shooting up in displays in every direction. Rocks were set up in balanced order, colorful flowers lining the edges and bordering stone benches. Some were blooming, some not – unable to stand up to the slight Texas cold.

Not daring to call out, Dean walked slowly down the main path, eyes scanning for anything that would lead him to Cas. He had half a mind to text him, but just before he was about to pull out his phone, he saw a familiar silhouette between two bushes. Pausing, he made sure he was correct before turning and heading into the foliage.

Cas was sitting on a bench, his back to Dean as he stared down a small, man-made pond. There were flowers hanging over the sides, a rich display beyond where Dean could hear bees buzzing quietly. Approaching slowly, Dean didn't say anything as he sat down beside the other man, aware of the way his shoulders slumped, his posture seeming to ward off any kind of contact.

Cas had to know he was there however, even as he ignored him. And so, supposing there was no point in rushing, Dean leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he watched a particularly fat bumblebee lift its hefty body from one flower to another.

"I like to watch the bees," Cas said after a moment, his voice perhaps attempting to be soft, but coming out like dragged gravel. Dean liked it, personally. "Their patterns, and how they just… know what they're supposed to do. They never shy away from their responsibilities. Like they're born already knowing what they have to accomplish."

"I didn't ask you know," Dean cracked a slight smile, glancing up at the other man, who shrugged. He looked tired, Dean noticed, his eyes somewhat red, but fading. The bite mark below his jaw was covered in a large bandage. "Seriously Cas," Dean leaned up, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"It's nothing," he assured, blue eyes finally flicking to Dean. "Just… parent stuff. Don't worry about it." Dean would have liked to say he wasn't, but that wouldn't be true. He just didn't have it in him not to be concerned about others. Besides, Cas was a decent enough guy, or so Dean had decided. He really didn't know him that well, but it was hard not to care when he looked so miserable.

"So this has something to do with your 'dinner' with your parents?"

Cas laughed bitterly. "I guess," he confirmed. "Dinner with them is always challenging. And after this one, I happened to be with Gabriel, whose merchandise was… a little too tempting at the time." He sounded ashamed, gulping as his eyes searched Dean's. "I didn't mean to come to the party high," he murmured. "I just…"

"It's alright," Dean threw out a lazy smile. "No harm done."

"I'd wanted to see you," he admitted almost too quickly. "They just…" he looked away, lips pursing, "threw me off balance."

"Yeah, parents'll do that," Dean offered, knowing more about the idea than he was willing to talk about. "It's okay Cas, really." Reaching out, he wrapped his arm around Cas's shoulders, scooting a little closer to him. "I'm not mad."

Cas looked back at him, their noses only inches apart as they stared. Dean tried to give out the most comforting smile he could, especially when Cas's focus fell to the red marks clearly visible on his neck. Reaching up, Cas touched the spots gently, looking even unhappier if at all possible.

"I'm sorry about these too."

"It's alright," Dean shrugged, drawing Cas's eyes back up to his. He preferred it that way. Never before Cas had he seen anyone with such eyes. "I don't normally like them being visible is all, if you ever get the idea again." Finally Cas smiled a little, the expression quick and fleeting. Rubbing his hand up and down Cas's shoulder, Dean pulled him in a little closer, glad when Cas didn't fight. Dean was, after all, a people person, and would feel better if Cas would just let him offer comfort. So he was satisfied when Cas's nose turned into his throat, face hiding in the crook of his neck. Breathing in his hair, which smelled of generic shampoo, he closed his eyes, registering the way Cas's hand came to rest lightly on his thigh.

They were quiet for some moments, simply sitting, taking each other in. Dean's hand soon came up from Cas's shoulder to his head, fingers sifting gently through his dark hair. Cas sighed into the touch, nuzzling Dean lightly as the seconds passed.

"You know," Cas started after a few moments, "you're not nearly as hard-assed as you have everyone convinced you are." The term referred to many things, Cas thinking of Anna and her distrust of Dean. As well as the general reputation that seemed to surround him.

"Yeah, well, you already knew that," Dean said a little sourly. "You had me begging like a whore the last time we were together, so I think that ship has long since sailed." Cas's deep laugh echoed up his whole body, his fingers tightening some on Dean's thigh as he pulled away slightly to look up.

"I told you I liked you like that," Cas replied almost sensually. "Begging is a very attractive trait on you." Dean rolled his eyes. "Besides, it's not like anyone else is there to see you."

"Of course not," Dean balked. "You're the only one who's ever going to see me like that." The comment was said defensively, Dean unaware of the pleasure Cas took out of such an admission. Maybe even Cas was somewhat unaware of it, on a certain level. He was just flattered that there was a part of Dean – in all his righteous beauty – that no one but him had seen. Like a kind of possessive greed.

"Am I going to get to see you like that again any time soon?" Cas asked teasingly, his hand flexing on Dean's thigh again.

"Well I guess that's your call," Dean verified, smirking. "Can you leave?"

"Of course. My mother expects I'll go out with my friends after service. She has her Sunday Tea with all the church women anyway, so she'll be preoccupied till well into the afternoon." Dean raised his eyebrows, grinning a little more. "And my father left this morning."

"So there's no one at your house," Dean established.

"Not even the butler or the cook," Cas assured. "They all get Sundays off."

"Then you have that big house all to yourself."

"I do."

"How convenient."

Both smiled, even if Cas's was considerably less showy than Dean's.

They were headed out of the garden shortly after, Cas's hand clasped dangerously inside Dean's as they skirted along the church yard to the Impala. Cas didn't dare let go however, afraid that if he did, the way the wind rushed against his hair and how the sun warmed his skin would disappear. Like these things only existed in that moment because he was attached to Dean. Part of him felt like the other boy thought the same thing, aware of how Dean's fingers tightened around his. They were headed for secrecy, for unknown forays. Into a mystery that was theirs alone and that would be invisible to everyone they left behind.

They only separated once they'd reached the car, Cas ducking into the passenger seat as Dean jogged around to the driver's. Breathing heavily, they glanced to each other as Dean shoved the keys into the ignition, Cas leaning over the bench seat and pressing their lips together as their lungs struggled to catch air. The dark, broad space of the Impala seemed to shield them, that the windows would give them away seeming irrelevant. It was striking, and exciting, being careless, their already swelling lips only parting when a loud Oldsmobile growled by behind them.

Dean was smiling with those beautiful teeth, Cas scooting back over to put his seatbelt on, but refusing to look away fully. Yanking the car into reverse, the engine rumbled around them, Dean punching it out of the lot as Cas drew his eyes down that perfect, freckle-littered profile.

Dean was just so… stunning. He couldn't get over it.

The feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket did drag him from his admiration however, Cas pulling it out to see he had a text from Anna.

"**Where are you? I mean, I know you never cared much for service, but…**"

Right, though his mother wasn't one of them, there _were_ people that would wonder where he was.

"**I'm busy,**" he typed back quickly. "**Don't come over. If my mother asks, I'm with the three of you.**" Anna, Gabriel, and Balthazar. He didn't elaborate further, sending the message before laying his phone down on the seat beside him. Which was why he didn't notice when in vibrated again.

"Should I park on the street?" Dean asked when it was clear Cas was done with his phone. The church wasn't too far from Cas's neighborhood after all, it taking them a mere five minutes, tops, to get there.

"No, you can park in the drive," Cas verified. "No one is there, and besides, even if my mother were to come home early, I'd just tell her I was tutoring you in English or something." She'd no doubt approve of that.

"You? Tutor me? In English?" Dean hadn't meant for the words to come out defensively. As it were, Cas gave him a curious look, one he had to ignore as he pursed his lips. "You know," he tried to recover as he turned his Impala in toward the gate that led to Cas's mansion, "I'm not as stupid as I look."

"I wasn't suggesting that you were," Cas frowned. "I just meant it in use as an example, an excuse." Dean didn't respond, Cas's curiosity only pulling away as he forced himself to leave the car. Going around the front of the Impala to the button pad on the brick pillar beside the entrance, he typed in some kind of security password that initiated the opening of the gates – since no one was working them on a Sunday. Jogging back around to the passenger door, he climbed in just as the gates cleared the way, Dean pushing them inside.

The gates closed shortly behind them.

Cas's curiosity never left however. "Dean," he said after a moment, the car winding down the long drive to the roundabout. "I don't think you're stupid." No response. "Just because I focus a little more on grades than you do doesn't mean I think I'm smarter than you."

"You're going to be valedictorian, Cas," Dean pulled them around to the front of the house, parking behind Cas's silver car. "I think your 'focus' is clearly more than a 'little.'" But that didn't mean Dean was stupid either, the point he was really trying to make.

"That doesn't mean anything," Cas said quietly, looking away to the window, his response transferring the curiosity to Dean as he shut down the Impala. It was clear the discussion was over however, Dean sighing as he pushed his door open.

"Tutor me in something other than English," he added as he climbed out, Cas flicking his eyes to him questioningly. Leaning down into the car, Dean smiled. "There is no happiness like mine," he explained. "I have been eating poetry."

"What?" Cas questioned, but Dean didn't give him an answer. Instead, he closed the car door before heading up a few of the steps to the house, Cas remaining stationary for only a few seconds longer before stepping out and following. Meeting Dean halfway up the stairs, he quickly pushed the exchange to the back of his mind, his whole body surging with pleasure as Dean reached out and took his hand again. Quickly leading them across the patio, Cas pulled his keys from his pocket upon reaching the front door, allowing them entrance before closing and locking up again behind them.

"You know," Dean started as Cas led them up the foyer stairs, "you could probably buy a decent sized house with the amount that Chandelier cost." He was looking up at the ceiling again, just as distracted as he'd been the first time he'd been pulled under it.

"Yes, it is rather a waste," Cas observed, glancing up at it as well. "But it's not my money to squander." This comment took Dean somewhat by surprise, his attention falling to the back of Cas's head as they rounded their way up into the hall. Generally speaking, rich kids were more than happy to claim their parent's money as their own. Dean had never heard one such separate themselves in the fashion Cas just had. He didn't know what to think of it – what that said about Cas. And his relationship with his parents.

They were closed up in Cas's room again a moment later, Dean recalling with equal wonder the size and splendor. Light and open, the sun shining in through the windows gave it a bright kind of assertiveness, Cas dropping his hand before heading over to the large doors that led out onto the balcony. Opening them, the curtains draped and tied to the pillars wavered, Cas standing in the breeze momentarily.

"Ya know," Dean drew those blue eyes back his way, "this place kind of reminds me of one of those high end hotel rooms that are always in the movies." He'd turned toward the back wall, looking at the framed art piece of an abstract human figure hanging there.

"Is that a compliment?" Cas asked, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched Dean from the other side of the room.

"If you want it to be," Dean threw a smile over his shoulder.

Cas sighed.

"I'll be right back," he said a second later, walking across the room to the door. "Please, Sir," he gestured to the room in a rather extravagant manner, "make yourself comfortable." Dean continued to grin, watching as Cas left the same way they'd come before turning his attention on the room again. Supposing he could take Cas's comment quite seriously, he began his snooping around. First through the living area, which wasn't much for distraction. The bathroom was nice, Dean running his finger along the marble countertop with an approving shrug. He bedroom section, well, he was already familiar with that, his prodding curiosity leading him to the wardrobe, which was cracked open with clothes leaking carelessly out the bottom.

Opening it fully, he poked through Cas's stuff shamelessly, his face lighting up at what he found tucked in the back.

Returning a few minutes later, Cas locked his door behind him, the towels in his hands getting tossed to the bathroom while the wine bottle and glasses he'd retrieved from the kitchen were placed on his desk. He cocked an eyebrow at Dean, who was still rummaging through his wardrobe.

"What are you doing?" he asked a second later.

"I'm trying to wrap my head around this," Dean admitted, finally turning. Cas frowned at what was hanging from his fingers. "Please, please tell me this fits. You have to wear it."

"I'm not wearing that," Cas waved off the floral dress Anna had made him buy previously.

"Yes, please, wear it," Dean looked so wide-eyed and innocent, like Cas putting on such a thing would make his whole universe. "I need you to wear this."

Cas wasn't pleased.

"I bet its look good," Dean held the article up to his own chest, as if to gauge its size, before beginning to shimmy sensually up to Cas, the dress between them. "You know you want to wear it." Yeah, he was grinning, little demon that he was.

"It is airy," Cas teased thoughtfully. "Maybe I should make _you_ wear it."

"You're wearing this," Dean determined forcefully. "Put it on. Now." Cas didn't have any real objections to the idea; he was mostly being difficult for the sake of being so. And he supposed there was no other time he'd ever have reason to wear it. If Dean wanted to see him in a dress, he supposed he could oblige.

"Be careful what you ask for," Cas pulled the dress away from him. "You'll owe me."

Dean smiled wider. "That's alright. I wore a pair of panties once," he shrugged. "It wasn't that bad."

Cas cocked a skeptical brow.

"Kind of liked it actually," Dean admitted, supposing that if he was going to make Cas wear a dress, he owed the guy such an admission. Besides, it was so easy to trust Cas – to feel comfortable around him. Dean knew he wasn't going to go around telling people he'd worn lady underpants. Like the dress and how Dean begged to be taken, it was something that would remain only between the two of them.

"Why does this not surprise me?" Cas asked sarcastically, Dean watching as he rolled his eyes and walked away. He went to the bathroom, dress in hand, and closed the curtains behind him. Still grinning to himself, Dean ignored how his body jittered in anticipation, instead shrugging off his jacket before allowing it to drop to the floor. Muttering to himself about 'naked time' in a rather sing-song voice, he was soon kicking all of his clothes to the side, more than satisfied with his state of total undress as he strolled over to the desk and retrieved one of the wine glasses.

"I feel so fancy," he muttered quietly, his voice the farthest thing from serious as he poured himself a drink. Behind him, watching and listening in slight amusement, Cas waited to be noticed, his hands going to his hips as Dean turned to face him. Glass at his lips, he looked Cas up and down, visibly admiring his muscular legs beneath the short skirt of the dress, which was barely long enough to cover anything important.

"You look lovely my lady," Dean winked.

"Oh thank you," Cas offered him a curtsy, sure to bat his eyelashes in an exaggerated manner before making his way over to his wardrobe. There, he made a show of bending over, Dean watching with raised eyebrows. Because Cas wasn't wearing anything but the dress, which left a rather clear view of his behind for dean to admire while he searched through his clothes. Taking another sip of the wine, Dean registered how his blood all pumped, his body heating and sending excited jolt across his skin.

Apparently finding what he was looking for, Cas turned back to Dean, the dress an odd turn-on Dean wasn't ashamed to admit to. Not in front of Cas anyway. He smirked, leaning lazily against the desk as Cas approached him, what looked like two ties dangling from his left hand.

In his right was something else entirely.

"Is that a riding crop?" Dean asked with raised eyebrows. "No offense, but I'm not really into the whole BDSM scene."

"And I'm not exactly into cross-dressing, but sacrifices have to be made," Cas replied, sounding of total seriousness. "Now do us both a favor," he pulled the end of the crop up along Dean's throat to his chin, "and get into bed."

Chuckling softly, Dean set his wine glass back down on the desk, pausing to look at Cas for only a second before giving in. Watching the crop somewhat warily, he turned away, going to the bed before sitting down. Scooting back, he soon had Cas hovering over him, the crop pushing lightly into his chest and issuing he lie back against the pillows.

Crawling up into the sheets as well, Cas was straddling Dean's abdomen between his legs, sitting quite comfortably as Dean began to snake his hands up under his skirt.

"_No_," Cas tapped his knuckles lightly with the crop, Dean narrowing his eyes at being rejected. "Above your head."

"Above my head?"

"Hurry up," Cas commanded deeply. "Wrists together." Sighing, Dean hesitated for only a moment before doing as he'd been commanded. Placing the crop aside, Cas leaned over him, Dean shadowed by his floral printed chest as he took one of his ties and wrapped it securely around Dean's wrists. Tying them together, he then knotted the whole thing to the bed, Dean torn between being anxious and excited at being strapped down.

And then the other tie was being wrapped around his eyes, Dean tensing as his vision was completely masked.

"Cas…" he said warningly, aware of how the other man sat back again, but unable to register anything else.

"Don't worry, Dean," he assured quite steadily. "You'll be fine."

What a comfort.

"Seriously," Cas continued, his tone abruptly more sincere. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." He leaned down, pressing his lips to Dean's. "I honestly, probably, don't know much more about it than you do." He didn't have any intention of tying Dean up fully and inflicting any kind of pain on him. The only reason he had the crop in the first place was because Gabriel had given it to him as a gag gift. Among other things that Castiel wasn't sure if he should use or not.

"Flying by the seat of your pants then?" Dean joked.

"No pants," Cas assured as he crawled off the other man. "Just you." Taking hold of the crop again, he stood beside the bed, eyes narrowed as he looked Dean over, considering just how he was going to go about this. Retrieving the lube from a drawer in his end table, he tossed it to the bed at Dean's thighs, somewhat satisfied when Dean flinched away from the unexpected thump against the sheets.

Leaning one knee on the mattress, Cas ran the end of the crop through his fingers, thoughtful and slow as Dean gulped in front of him.

"Tell me Dean," Cas started after a few more seconds, the end of the crop finding Dean's throat before he sensually began to drag it down his chest. "What do you _want_ me to do to you?" Down his abdomen, slow and steady, Dean's breath jolting when the leather end reached below his belly button.

"I want you to be careful with that thing," he said almost sharply, Cas smiling shortly as he teased the crop around the base of Dean's arousal. Up his length, Dean's hips shying down into the mattress as he lifted the crop away. "Ya know, the whole point of you wearing a dress was so that I could see you in it," Dean grumped.

"You do an awful lot of complaining," Cas commented as he rose from the bed, walking around to the end so he was within clear view of what lay between Dean's legs. "Am I not doing a good job?"

"No."

Crawling up on the bed, Cas extended the crop again, his own arousal spiking at the way Dean's whole body shrank away from how he dragged the leather down along Dean's length, lower and lower until it hit the sheets.

"Lift your legs," he commanded a second later.

"Put the crop down."

"Do as you're told," Cas said darkly, snapping the crop sharply against the back of Dean's thigh.

"Ah, hey!" Dean kicked out at him. "Watch it!"

"Dean…" A scolding.

Cas could hear how Dean growled in irritation before doing as he'd been commanded. Running the crop along the back of Dean's thigh, Cas admired his exposed form, his tongue bit between his teeth in contemplation.

"You have yet to follow through with what I asked of you initially," Cas determined. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"You know what I want you to do," Dean replied, annoyed, and Cas shook his head in disapproval. Snapping the crop again, he let the leather smack at the skin below Dean's thigh.

"Cas!" he flinched forward, pulling against the ties holding him in place. "Smack me with that thing one more time and I'll break you."

"Don't put your feet down Dean or I'll be forced to tie those up too."

"I hate you right now."

"Tell me, Dean," the crop's end was resting against his ass almost threateningly. But in the same moment, Cas leaned down, allowing his breath to rush up between Dean's thighs. He nosed his way up Dean's desire, his lips dragging along that length as Dean gasped above him.

"That's fine," Dean breathed. "What you're doing there." Smiling to himself, Cas decided to do away with the crop, tossing it to the side before gripping greedily around Dean's legs. He wasn't getting a very good response about it anyway.

"That's not a good enough answer," Cas replied, his tongue just barely drawing up between his lips, Dean's toes curling against the sensation. Because he couldn't see what Cas was doing, totally blind to his intentions, and there was something rather erotic about that.

"I want your mouth around… I want…" Dean's arms strained against the ties, his hands flexing as Cas took him totally between his lips, sucking some before pulling away again. "Cas, don't stop," Dean labored.

"Your lack of specifics are misleading," Cas muttered, his lips pulling him up Dean's abdomen. He kissed his way across that quivering, heated skin, all the way to Dean's collarbone. Hands placed against the sheets at Dean's sides, Cas allowed his hips to grind some against Dean's, the fabric of the dress riding up out of the way as he rocked against the other man.

Legs hooked up behind Dean's thighs, he relished in how Dean groaned beneath him, his lips kissing down his muscled chest, slow and teasingly. Until the taste of his salted skin was too much and, keeping in mind what Dean had said about visibility, Cas began to suck a little harder. Until the flesh was red and enflamed, Dean biting his lip and tensing against his restraints.

Cas sucked harder. Dean moaned.

Still rocking their hips together, Cas reached back beside Dean's thigh, retrieving the lube. Clicking the bottle open, he leaned up just long enough to pull his other hand over and coat his fingers, careful not to allow any to drip down and give away to Dean what he was doing.

Leaning his body flush against Dean's, his lips pulled harshly at another circle of skin, Dean's legs wrapping around his body as his hips bucked in response to it all. Hand dragging back, Cas shifted it between their rocking bodies, cupping Dean up between his thighs. Halting his hips, he teased his finger at that waiting entrance, Dean biting his lip and sighing into the chilled touch.

All the while Cas left red, swollen bites down Dean's chest, his first finger entering as his teeth nipped at a third spot.

Feet falling back down against the sheets, Dean's hips rose to meet Cas's intrusion, pulling him in further as Cas stroked that one spot he'd since realized threw Dean into a euphoric need. A pleasure that bounced off him in equal amounts when giving it.

Dean rolled against his finger, Cas dragging his touch in and out, loosening Dean further in every moment. Two fingers, three, until Dean was moaning loudly, Cas's lips sucking so hard as his skin that he was bruising the sensitive flesh.

He wanted Dean, he did – wanted to take him and make him scream his name – but he held back. Rushing wasn't intended. That, and attention wasn't something Cas only wanted to give. If they were really going to keep up this deal, then Dean wasn't going to be the only one to be worshipped.

Leaning up abruptly, Cas reached out and pulled the tie loose that held Dean's hands, his fingers retreating out in same moment as Dean collapsed into the pillows. Sitting up between Dean's legs, Cas watched as the tie was shaken from Dean's hands, which then came down and yanked the other from around his eyes. Green met blue, the desire between them seeming to snap as Dean sat up.

As Cas had his hands come up to stroke down his own neck and shoulders, to his chest still covered in floral fabric. Leaning back, he was aware of the way Dean watched him even as he closed his eyes. Legs folded under him, he stretched, slow and deliberate until he was lying flat against the sheets, flexible and straining as his feet remained up under him. As he reached down to his own thighs and tugged the dress up out of the way, revealing to Dean his own erected need.

It was one of the sexiest things Dean had ever seen, the way Cas had so effortlessly rolled his body back against the bed, muscular legs still folded beneath him – revealing himself in a way Dean had yet to see. Crawling forward, he laid his hands on Cas's, which were still gipping the floral fabric. Hovering above him, Dean ushered the dress up, soon pulling it over Cas's head as his arms stretched out over the end of the bed.

Tossing the article aside, Dean lowered his lips the chest below him, kissing softly as Cas's fingers found his hair, twining into it gently. His hands, rather, pulled down Cas's sides, gripping lightly at his hips before slipping down under his knees. Careful not to unintentionally hurt him, Dean unfolded that defined body the rest of the way, Cas's legs coming around like a frame as he kissed a little harder at the heat beneath his lips.

"I'm a swimmer," Cas warned a second later, his deep voice oddly winded. "I don't get to wear a shirt everywhere I go."

Dean got the message, lightening his kisses and instead dragging them down, down to Cas's waist, deferring to the side at the lure of those pointed hips. He placed kiss after kiss against them, cherishing every piece of skin as his arm came to wrap around Cas's thigh. With fingers still twining and messaging into his hair, Dean dotted his mouth along that toned leg, inside until he was nosing his way up into the heated landscape beneath Cas's own desire. To that patch of hairless flesh between one need and another, his lips pressing forward as his arms spurred Cas to pull his legs further apart.

No one would be seeing this part of Cas but him, the thought igniting Dean's possessiveness. He sucked, Cas gasping above him as he inflicted his own mark, pleased at the fact that, as he bruised the sensitive flesh, every time Cas walked, sat down, did anything, he'd feel the echo of it. He'd remember just how close Dean had been to him, how familiar.

He didn't let up until the skin was a deep red – swollen – Cas's hands practically pulling at his hair. He kissed along the insides of Cas's thigh, leaving mark after mark as the half-dozen on his own chest throbbed in tandem. Until he knew that Cas wouldn't be able to wear anything without discomfort. Without thinking of him.

See how well he ignored his texts after that.

"You deserve every single one of those," Dean murmured as he pulled his body back over Cas's, pressing their lips together even as they smiled in tandem. "Probably more after what you did with that stupid crop."

"You liked it," Cas determined, pulling Dean's lips back between his own, the two of them lost in the moment, dizzy as they sucked the oxygen from each other. As if they needed only one another to keep going in that moment. Just the two of them in their own small world, the breeze from the balcony doors disturbing only the canopy above the bed.

"What do _you_ want?" Dean whispered out as their heavy breathing broke them apart.

"You," Cas murmured back, his hand falling from Dean's hair to cup the side of his face. "I want you Dean," he kissed him again shortly, breath hitching before he continued.

"I want you to _ride_ me."

Little else needed to be said on the subject. Though some minutes had passed, Dean was still more than ready. More than wanting. _Needing_.

Pulling himself out from between Cas's legs, he straddled him between his thighs, one of Cas's hands falling to the lube bottle still lying beside them on the bed. He gave it to Dean, who rubbed the cool liquid up and down Cas's length before reaching back and reapplying it to himself. Cas watched him, his grip finding Dean's behind and holding him firmly as Dean reached down, took hold of that waiting length, and began to lower himself down. He moaned from somewhere deep in his throat, Cas gritting his teeth as that tight entrance unfolded. As the enveloping heat of Dean closed around him.

Dean, who was poised above him with a look of sensual indulgence plastered to his features, his freckled, muscular form heavy and suffocating in all the right ways. In all the ways that caused Cas to move his hips up to meet him, pushing his way up into the other man as deeply as he could.

And then Dean leaned forward, his hands landing on Cas's chest for leverage as he began to move, starting slow before gradually pushing his motions into a repetitive up and down, in and out that had him biting his bottom lip. The mattress bounced under them, Cas clawing into the taut skin cupped in his palms. He thrust himself up into Dean, meeting every drop with a plunge that worked them into a pattern. One in Dean's control. One he pushed faster until their muscles strained with the effort, Dean's nails digging into Cas's chest as he huffed with each drive.

As his breathing became moans, green eyes closing above flushed cheeks.

"Yes, yes," he said quickly, his hips rocking aggressively. "Ugh, Cas, yes!"

There was no one but them; no one to hear. Not that Dean thought he'd care if there was – not in that moment. Electricity jolted up through him with each fall he allowed himself against Cas, the feeling of being filled so prevailing that it overcame all his control. Any sense of self-consciousness evaporated, leaving him in a desperate mess of nerves and actions, desiring only Cas. In that white, frenzied instant, them being together was all that mattered.

With Cas holding him steady, firm hands dependable, Dean was soon leaning back, his fingers going to his hair as his body tipped into a more accessible position. As his high came toppling down, Cas's thrusting becoming more insistent if only to make up for how Dean was giving in, wanting more and more for Cas to simply push him into oblivion.

To take him over the edge.

"Cas, more!" he called out, his voice moaning hoarse. "Yes! _Yes_!"

The smile that overcame his face as he hit his climax sent Cas further as well, the look of pure undulating ecstasy a hand that reached out as he fell, tugging Cas over with him. They collapsed together, a collision of heavy breathing and defiant pulling, Cas's trembling hands reaching out to catch Dean, bringing him down across his chest before their arms wrapped around one another. As if the tighter they held on, the longer it'd last.

Dean was shaking, even as he tried to give in to the way he was held. He let his nose find a place inside the crook of Cas's neck, his thoughts empty as he closed his eyes. As they both let the sensations rock them out of euphoria.

Gradually, however, as with everything that had an end, the beginnings of other things began to trickle into Dean's mind. Because that was the third time he'd been with Cas. Not the third time they'd simply had fun together, but the third time he'd gone out of his way to get something from Cas he hadn't realized till recently that he'd even wanted.

Charlie's words, and Cas's reassurances – he tried to remember them as well, but there was something about how he'd taken control that time, how he'd climbed up on Cas and initiated it, that cracked some of his resolve. Because he hadn't just sat there and let Cas do it. He'd not only wanted it, but he'd acted on it. He'd willingly, truly _willingly_, initiated it, and like a domino effect, he felt his insecurities come leaking back.

Because eighteen years of thinking one way and finding out it was the other didn't go away with a few romps in the sack and some logic on gender.

"Dean?" Cas asked a few seconds later, concern evident in his voice. He'd felt the tension building in the man on top of him, felt it in how his embrace tightened and his face buried more deeply into his neck. Like he was hiding. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Dean croaked out, his heart speeding up in his chest, and not in a good way. Because his nerves were snapping, and his paranoid anxieties were getting through to the surface.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Cas asked more seriously, his own head clearing away the haze that had been clouding his perceptions. Like a bubble popped, any good aftermath was thrown away. Which only made Dean feel worse. Like coming off a high for the crash.

He didn't want to drag Cas into that. It wasn't his problem.

Releasing him, Dean abandoned any safety he'd felt wrapped in his arms, pushing himself into sitting and rolling to the side. Cas sat up behind him, staring at his back as he hunched over. As he tried to ignore the feelings of nausea roiling inside him.

"Hey, Dean, it's okay," Cas said softly, his hand coming out to rest on the other man's shoulder. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but as he scooted up beside him, he got a clear look at his profile. He saw the confused turmoil there, the doubt. The self-loathing even.

Things Cas was all too familiar with. Because he'd dealt with the same disgust when he'd realized he was gay, and struggled with the same up and down inability to accept it.

"Dean," he murmured the name softly. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay." Still, he didn't know exactly what he should say. Because he didn't understand what had set Dean off. What they'd done, probably, though what about it he didn't know.

As it were, Cas didn't try to reflect much on the first few times he'd experimented with other boys. It wasn't exactly something he recalled with great fondness. He'd been relieved at first, excited even, but then plagued by guilt and disgust. Up and down, emotional whiplash. It'd taken him years to come to terms with himself, and even then he wasn't yet brave enough to come out totally. He was still hiding.

Sometimes all he'd wanted was for someone to tell him everything was going to be alright. That it wasn't quite so bad as he'd thought it'd been.

"Dean, look at me," Cas issued softly, bending down to try and draw Dean's attention his way. "Please, talk to me."

"I don't wanna talk. Just drop it," Dean snapped, his hand coming up to hold his forehead. He gulped, pushing at his emotions in a futile attempt to control them. It wouldn't work; he knew that even as he tried. Being with Cas had already exhausted him, physically as well as emotionally, and he wasn't going to succeed. He felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, which only made the nausea that much worse.

"I get it, I do," Cas tried to assure. "I know what it's like. Please, Dean," he searched his profile, trying to find the right words. "There's no one here but us. You don't have anything to be ashamed of." Though he'd said as much before, he really meant it in that moment. "There's nothing wrong with you Dean, or what you want."

"Please stop talking."

Cas shut his mouth.

He didn't release Dean however, instead pushing his hand along his shoulder until he was holding the back of his neck. Daring to lean a little closer, Cas slid across the sheets, his forehead finding Dean's temple, thankful when he didn't shy away from the contact. The silence between the reigned for maybe a minute or two – until Dean's gaze finally flicked up to Cas's.

"I know maybe you don't want to talk about it Dean," Cas murmured, "but if you ever need to, I'll listen. I know that… that we haven't known each other that long, but I do understand what you're going through."

Dean scoffed bitterly. "Thanks." He was clearly still under some distress, his attention flicking away again as Cas leaned back. Dean tried to find a distraction, something that would pull him from the thoughts hammering at his brain. Anything really – an excuse to ignore it all.

"What's through those doors?" his voice blurted suddenly, defensively. He was looking at a pair of closed double doors on the far side of the room.

Cas, however, attention flicking to them as well, pursed his lips, unable to initially respond. Until Dean looked back over at him, green eyes searching. Searching in a way that spoke of something other than curiosity. Of needing reassurance, and trust, and someone to pretend like it was all okay and move on with the subject.

But Cas wasn't sure this was a direction he was willing to go.

"That's my… my closet," he explained, unable to hide the way his voice stumbled, his nervousness not getting by Dean, who was looking for any excuse to focus on something else. "I don't use it," he somewhat lied. "At least, not like… not like a closet." He was caught between a rock and a hard place, aware that if he didn't explain, he might lose what little ease Dean felt around him, but that if he did, he'd, well, he'd have to do just that. "I don't, uh, I don't…"

Dean furrowed his brows, those green eyes seeming to glint in the morning sunlight.

"I don't let people… in there…"

"Why?" Dean asked almost immediately. Part of Cas wanted to tell him to stop asking, that it was none of his business. They were only sleeping together and so he had no right prying into Cas's personal affairs. But Cas didn't want to push Dean away, or make him feel unwelcome when he clearly needed a place to be safe. Because there wasn't any other person with whom he could discuss what they'd just done except who he'd done it with, or so Cas was assuming based on Dean's insistence that Cas was his only outlet for such things. And, well, though Cas kept telling himself what they were doing was just sex, that wasn't entirely true. It never was.

"I- it's-" Cas continued to fumble, taking a deep breath as he tried to gather his courage.

"You have some kind of creepy shrine in there or something?" Dean tried to joke, a weak smile twitching at one side of his lips. No amount of humor could overcome his self-inflicted hurt however, Cas lastly thinking that, maybe, if he could be open with Dean, then that would make it easier on the other side.

"No, it's…" he sighed and looked away, biting his tongue. He could trust Dean, right? He had to. They'd already blindly put their faith in each other doing what they were. If only because of that – the thin string suspended between them – Cas thought maybe it'd be okay. "You can't tell anyone."

Dean looked even more interested if at all possible, his eyes trailing Cas closely as he slid across the sheets and stood. Hesitating for only a second, he went to his end table and pulled open the first drawer. There, in the corner, was the key, which he held tightly in one hand as he turned back to Dean.

Holding out his hand, he blinked, willing the other man to understand just how important this was. To only take his hand if he could really be trusted. And Dean, becoming more and more perplexed, didn't even pause before reaching out and placing his hand in Cas's. Standing, he forcefully ignored any remnants of what they'd just done, his bare back to the bed. Instead, he willed his thoughts to think of Cas, to become distracted as they walked silently across the room to the infamous doors.

Cas placed the key in the lock, twisting it slowly until it clicked. He then turned around to face Dean again, his back against the doors as he gulped. "No one has ever seen in here," not Anna, not his parents. No one. "So just… keep that in mind."

"Cas…" Dean shook his head, but he didn't get a response. Instead, turning back, Cas took a visibly deep breath before pulling the doors open. Stepping to the side, he looked down at the floor, Dean stepping past him into the foreign landscape – so different from the room outside.

"Holy shit…" Dean whispered under his breath, his eyes widening at the layers upon layers of paper. Sheets that lined the walls and shelves from floor to ceiling. Blasts of color; of people's faces outlined in haunting expressions. Dark eyes, dripping bodies, sharp edges interjected into figures with desolate hands and shoulders. Some were held in each other, their expressions splashes outlined in wings and lines and breaths of a kind of air Dean had never seen before. Pinned over and over on each other, a cascading dance of things he didn't understand. Of a side of Cas he'd never even fathomed existed. His whole chest surged at the sight of it all, pulling him further into the room. His feet hit on the marble floors, stained with paint that seemed to seep and hide in the shadowed light.

Light that streamed in from a skylight above their heads, twisting through in beams that revealed the sparkles of dust floating lazily about.

Dean was speechless. He looked to the broad, plush stool in the middle of the room, to the canvas before it. He couldn't even take in the work in progress sitting there, the paints that were scattered around only seeming to add a kind of certainty to what he saw – as otherworldly as it seemed.

"You did this?" he asked, turning back to Cas in awe and disbelief.

"Y-yes…"

"Holy _shit,_ Cas," Dean turned back, gaze darting around the room uncontrollably. "This is some beautiful mind shit, that's for fuckin' sure. Where… where did you learn to paint like this?"

"I just…" Cas shrugged, Dean's attention falling back on him again. "Do."

"'Do?'" Dean shook his head. "Jesus, Cas." Stunned. Absolutely and totally stunned.

"What does that mean?" Cas asked almost suspiciously, uncertain and afraid to face what Dean's exclamations implied.

"It means that you're fucking amazing!"

"Really?" Cas asked almost sheepishly, his hands fiddling nervously with the doorknob at his back.

"Yeah. Seriously, do you not see how incredible any of this is? Why would you hide this from anyone?"

A question more complicated than Cas was willing to talk about.

"Wow…" Dean continued, turning back to the paintings – so many, dozens. He kind of recognized some of the faces. Anna, Gabriel, Balthazar. Maybe a few other people they went to school with. And some he realized were no one, just faces in a crowd that perhaps Cas had seen in passing; that remained like crumbs in his head.

Walking into the light, Dean's attention skipped from piece to piece, only pausing when he finally focused on the work in progress sitting up on the easel. Staring at it, he felt his chest tighten, his lips pursing at what he saw. A familiar face, one dotted with freckles executed in black ink. Detailed eyes – green, their flecks visible. Some of the green dripped down like the entire essence of that look was leaking away. And a hand, one that reached out and lightly touched the angled jaw. A burst of color fanned out behind it – behind the hand that Dean recognized as belonging to the artist that'd drawn it.

There was something in that painting, something he didn't see when he looked in the mirror. Like what was on the canvas was how Cas saw him, all beauty and depth and things Dean was always fighting when he woke up in the morning.

Parts of himself he'd never see.

"Dean?" Cas asked quietly, creeping into the walk-in closet. He didn't get a response however, Dean unable to pull his focus from the canvas. His breathing became short, his throat going dry. He didn't want to look at it, but it was there, it existed, and he didn't know what to do with the fact. He didn't understand how Cas could really look at him and see the things he'd put to that canvas. It contradicted so much of what Dean felt himself – so much that haunted him.

He had to sit down, his legs trembling as he dropped onto the plush stool in the middle of the room.

Walking up beside him, Cas took in his expression, registering the uncertainty and fear. He didn't know exactly what was going through Dean's head, but it didn't really matter.

Because he was facing something terrifying, and personal, and beyond the grasp of logical understanding. This idea that humans placed on rational – on being able to look at anything and configure it in a fashion that made it comprehensible – that didn't exist in human emotion, not really. He could fight it all he wanted, but it was still there, still rearing its ugly head, and there was no real escape. Only attempts to cope, and comfort.

Coming up beside him, Cas reached a hand out to Dean's naked shoulder again, trying to hold him steady if he could. Yet Dean's eyes remained trained on the unfinished painting, the look of sheer agony that began to overcome him more than Cas could bear.

"Dean, stop," he issued quietly. "Don't do this." Walking around to stand before him, Cas physically blocked the painting, Dean's attention twitching upward to meet his gaze. Placing both hands on Dean's shoulders, Cas slowly bent lower, pulling his knees up onto the stool on either side of Dean thighs. He placed himself gingerly in Dean's lap, their foreheads touching as eye contact was forcefully kept.

"What are you doing, Cas?" Dean asked almost brokenly, his own hands coming to rest on Cas's hips.

"I'm telling you the truth Dean, even if you don't want to hear it."

"The truth?"

"My truth," Cas verified sternly. "It's up to you whether you want to believe it."

"Cas…"

"You're beautiful," he started, aware of the redness that flared in Dean's cheeks. "Maybe that's not how you want to see yourself," be it for good or bad, "but it's true. And it's nobody's business but yours what you want when we're together. No one else is there to watch, or to say it's wrong. If the world has a problem with it, then they can fuck themselves." Dean smiled just barely. "And if you have a problem with it, I ask you why."

Noses brushing, Cas pressed a light kiss to Dean's lips.

"I know and you know that you're Dean Winchester," he murmured. "That no one messes with you and gets away with it. That women still fall at your feet far more than they do anyone else, and the fact that you're sleeping with me wouldn't change that had it not been for the fact that I dictated it did."

Dean smiled a little more, Cas laying another kiss at the corner of his lips.

"And you have no idea how flattered I feel that you came to me, and that you let me pleasure you in ways no one else has." His deep voice became a whisper. "And that you call out my name, and beg, and plead like you couldn't get it anywhere else." Because he could, but he didn't. "You think that's something to be ashamed of?" His hand came up to sift through Dean's hair. "You asked for it Dean, you faced it when lesser men would have turned away. You chose to pursue what you wanted, not run away from it.

"If there's anything that I find sexy, and masculine, about you, it's that you overcame obstacles that would halt others in their tracks. You didn't back down, you didn't push away.

"You don't give in, you embrace, and that makes you more of a man than anything anyone could say or think about you."

More kisses were trailed along his jaw, Dean's grip on Cas's hips tightening.

"Take comfort," he whispered once his lips reached Dean's ear, "that I only sleep with _real_ men." Though his definition of such a thing differed from society's constructs, that didn't change the fact, or that his expectations weren't at all low. Dean filled the quota for the moment, a compliment Cas was trying his hardest to make him realize.

"Do you really mean that?" Dean finally managed to find his voice, though it was low and rough as he spoke into Cas's shoulder.

"Every word."

Dean finally managed a real smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Looking for a Beta reader! Just an FYI.<strong>

**A/N:** Geh, please leave **reviews** guys. And if you have a **tumbr**, feel free to follow me - **DemonDogDean**. All I post is Superntaural/Destiel stuff on that one, lol. This story is a little heavier than anything I've ever written before, so help me to keep at it if you want to read more!

A lot happened in this chapter. Lots of symbolism – gardens and closets, lol. And sex! There's so much sex in this story, at least for me. I don't write smut religiously, and usually sex scenes are something I save back for more specific moments, but I wanted to try something else, plus who doesn't need practice writing sex scenes? They take so many pages though. That's why these chapters are so long. Because not only is this story so emotionally weighted, but physically weighted. It's exhausting to write, lol. But I like it, so I hope you do too. The boys are getting a little closer, maybe even become friends? Friends with benefits? I guess that's all perception though, and how honest they're being with themselves.

So originally I was going to have Dean be the one who used emojis all the time and Cas never, but then the latest episode of Supernatural happened and that idea got tossed out the window, lol. "I like texting. Emoticons." What a dork.

Thanks for the support guys, and please remember to tell me what you think.

**Edit:** Sorry, accidentally deleted the chapter, not a new one, lol. Working on five, no worries.


	5. How To Spell Subtext

**Dust in the Wind**

"_Tell me that you are not a thief__  
><em>_Oh but I am bad company__  
><em>_It's the way I play dirty for dirty__  
><em>_Oh, somebody double-crossed me__  
><em>_Double-cross, double-cross"_

_**Bad Company – Bad Company**_

**Chapter 5: How To Spell Subtext**

"You know, if you're going to just randomly disappear, it'd be nice if you'd at least answer your texts," Anna berated as she joined Castiel at his locker, her eyebrows raised high and her arms crossed over her chest.

"I've misplaced my phone," he replied straight, his focus trained on his locker as he pulled his lit books out. "Otherwise I would have." He was satisfied such a response was more than adequate, fully aware of the way Anna sighed, yet intent on not elaborating further.

"What were you doing?" she asked secondly, Cas figuring this would be her next question, yet still unsure how he should respond. The truth wasn't acceptable, he knew that, but it was hard to explain when the majority of his after-church time was spent with his sister.

Thankfully, he was saved having to answer when Gabriel came careening over.

"I can't take it anymore!" he yelled, other students in the hall jumping and glancing over at him in disgruntled surprise. Neither Cas nor Anna reacted as such. "They're driving me insane!" With a bang, his shoulder fell heavily into the locker beside Cas's, no amount of theatrics pulling any kind of response from his cousin, who was calmly clicking his own locker closed.

"Calm down Gabriel," Anna reprimanded sourly.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt your interrogation?" he asked snidely, Cas turning around and leaning against his locker, books hugged to his chest as his family members went at each other. "Cassie's a grown-up. If he wants to take 'personal time,' it's really none of your business." Gabriel waggled his eyebrows up at Cas then, smirking. "Have some Dean-time, did you?"

Cas pursed his lips disapprovingly.

"You scold her and then ask the same questions yourself," Balthazar stated simply upon approach, his eyes trained down on his thumbs, which were tapping away as his phone. "Truly, you two are more alike than you seem to realize."

"Shut up," Gabriel frowned, reaching out as if to knock Balthazar's cell from his hands, but the other man evaded him easily. "Fine, back to me," his favorite subject. "Seriously, I think I'm about ready to move out."

"You say that every week," Anna was already exasperated.

"I'm serious this time!" Gabriel persisted. "You know I'm going for a college visit next weekend? I haven't even been accepted and they're ready to ship me off. Not that it matters," he slammed his one book down on his head like a child throwing a temper-tantrum. "I won't be getting in on my own merit anyway."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Anna lectured, Cas only half-listening. His eyes had wandered down the hall. To the large group standing inside the nearest intersection, a voice he'd grown far too accustomed to hitting his ears. He couldn't make out what was being said, but the familiar sound rang nonetheless.

"I want it to be that way," Gabriel continued. "I'm outta this place, I swear. I've got a lot saved up. Won't need my parents if I do things right."

"I wouldn't say what you do is 'right,'" Anna scoffed.

"I'm going to class," Cas interjected suddenly, pushing himself up off the lockers. "I'll see you guys at lunch." Leaving his group, he ignored how their eyes watched him, instead heading toward the crowd making all the noise down the hall. He didn't interrupt their conversation. Rather, he simply walked by, skimming a little closer to them than perhaps necessary.

He was pretty sure he'd accomplished what he'd set out to.

"And then he says, 'what do you mean I gave my mom your special brownies?'" Garth was retelling his favorite story from the weekend. Dean had already heard it a dozen times, smiling out of habit when the large group surrounding them burst out laughing. Garth always had a way with stories, Dean would give him that. Guy could make anything exciting.

Even something as mundane as pot-brownies.

Dean's attention was far from totally focused however, which made it easy for him to be distracted. Eyes catching, he watched as Cas's familiar figure strolled nonchalantly by, his English books held in his hands. Dean knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. Like a waterfall, everything from the day before came tumbling back into his mind's eyes – specifically the sexy parts. He'd had to leave Cas's for work, and guy had left his phone in the Impala, so he hadn't so much as typed a word to him.

Which really shouldn't bother Dean, but it did. He hadn't left all those bites on Cas so he'd have a reason to ignore him anyway.

Not even bothering with a farewell (because Dean Winchester did whatever the fuck he wanted, no excuses necessary), he pushed his way out of the group, multiple eyes watching him curiously as he headed down the hall after Cas – a fair distance behind of course. Not bothering to look back, he trailed that dark head of hair through the throngs of students. All the way to their English class, Cas veering inside the room and disappearing.

Dean almost followed him in. Almost. But just as he was reaching the door, his nerves began to get the better of him. Nerves he hadn't even realized were creeping up on him until he'd felt the balloon pop in his stomach.

Quite literally, he was _nervous_ about seeing Cas. Dean Winchester – like a prepubescent boy! Because, though him and Cas had shared in quite the heated Sunday, that wasn't the only thing that had happened. There'd been… _feelings_. Dean was uncomfortable thinking about it, and humiliated, but no amount of turning away from what had happened would make it _un_-happen. He'd been upset, he'd been insecure, and Cas had seen it all. Something he didn't normally let anyone in on. And Cas had been so… sweet about it. For a guy with a certain amount of cold detachment, he'd been understanding, and said such reassuring things. The _right_ things.

And then they'd had this _tender_ make-out session in his closet, naked and not fucking, and they'd watched a movie, again naked and together and laughing and making-out some more, and _not fucking_. Then of course, cleaning up before Dean had had to go into work in Cas's giant shower, kissing and touching and whispering and no fucking!

It was almost too much to remember. At least for Dean. He hadn't spent so much naked time with someone without constant sex in… ever! It was almost like it'd been a dream, one he'd woken up from later and realized he'd rather no one had seen it but him. Yet Cas had, and though part of him wanted to run away and drop the whole situation, a stronger part was pulling at him, pushing him to walk through he door. Was excited to, even. To see Cas sitting there in the corner, ready to be flirted with.

But the tightness in Dean's stomach was conflicting. Because what if Cas didn't want to see him? What if Sunday had just been an obligation because Dean had acted so pathetically? What if, when he sat down next to him, Cas completely ignored him? At first it'd been a fun game, chasing Cas down, but Dean wasn't so sure he could handle rejection anymore. Not after Sunday. Not without knowing what Cas was really thinking.

But, perhaps most importantly, he didn't _want_ to be rejected. Not that rejection was something he regularly strove toward, but generally he wouldn't have cared.

He _wanted_ Cas to want him – despite the emotional rollercoaster from the day before. And in more than just a physical way. He wanted Cas to want to be around him. And the thought that he might not actually bothered Dean. A _lot_. Because…

Because –

Oh God, he _liked_ Cas.

Like, in a like-like sort of way.

_Fuck_! How had this happened?

"Dean Winchester," a female voice cut into his thoughts. "On time. I'm impressed." It was Amanda, or Mrs. Cliff, whatever she liked to be called (or didn't like to be called). "Are you going to just stand outside the door till the bell rings and walk in late anyway? Or would you like to accompany me?" The way she said as much, like she knew something he didn't, was almost disgusting. And had Dean not so thoroughly shocked himself, he might have handed her a snide response. As it were, he didn't have anything to say. Scowling, he turned away, marching into the class ahead of her and not bothering to look back.

But there was Cas. Sitting in the back. And Dean's legs felt like they might fall right off as they took him to his seat. Like he was floating, but in the nauseous way.

Cas was writing; he wasn't looking up. He wasn't seeing him. Oh god, he was going to be ignored. He knew it! Cas thought he was a total screw up. He never should have lost control like he had on Sunday. He never should have let anything out. Oh god, oh fuck, shit, shit, shit!

_Shit!_

But-

Then he did slowly look up. And those blue eyes went right to Dean sitting down beside him. His lips pulled just slightly into one of the softest smiles. Yeah, a smile.

He _smiled_.

And Dean had never been more relieved in his life.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas murmured just loud enough for him to hear, the way his name came off those lips speaking of secret things only they knew.

"Uh, morning," Dean replied back lamely, his nerves acting like a slingshot – like they'd been slowly pulled back and were now bombing him. Overwhelming him. And Cas was still smiling. "Here," Dean started after a second, reaching into his pocket. "You left this in my car." He laid Cas's phone on his desk, pushing it closer with one finger.

"Ah, that's where it was," Cas nodded in approval, as if this whole thing were just so easy. Dean cursed him, but then regretted it.

Picking up his phone, Cas's focus fell away. He was checking his messages, silent and thoughtful, and Dean didn't know what to do with himself. So he tapped his fingers on the desk and pretended to watch their teacher at the head of the class. He ignored how Cas was looking over at him curiously every once in a while, eventually resorting to biting his bottom lip like some kind of anchor.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket (not even Dean was rude enough to have on the volume during class), he physically jumped in his seat.

Thankful for the distraction however, he pulled out the contraption to see he'd gotten a text. From Cas.

"**Are you okay? You seem upset. Did something happen?**" Frowny face.

It was funny, really, the kinds of things that could calm a person. He was wound so tight, and acting so ridiculous, that Cas had actually noticed enough to get concerned. Because he _did_ care, and Dean had been stupid for thinking that maybe he really didn't.

"I'm fine," he mouthed over to him, aware of the way Cas's eyebrows furrowed at him. Dean forced a smile however, one that became more real as Cas's shoulders dropped of their worry. As Dean's whole body seemed to do the same.

"Mr. Winchester," Amanda called back to him, both him and Cas snapping their attention forward in abrupt surprise. "Since you feel the need to constantly whisper to Mr. Novak over the top of what I'm saying," he hadn't even made any noise, "would you please do us all the honor of explaining what you thought was happening in the poem you were assigned last week?"

_Strike out_, Dean thought to himself. He didn't do homework.

"Sorry Amanda," he smirked, shrugging lazily. "Forgot my book."

"Of course you did. Why does this not surprise me?"

"No worries," Dean leaned forward, gripping the front edge of his desk before, loudly, pushing his whole seat into the space between him and Cas. Until their desks collided with a shallow "thunk." "I'll share with Cas." He winked up at her.

Cas was biting the inside of his cheek, trying his best not to smile.

"Fine," she shook her head, almost as if she were defeated. "What about you Castiel? What did you think of the poem?"

Cas glanced down at his book, Dean watching with a smirk as his thoughts whirred and formulated behind his eyes.

"Well, based on the setting of the beach, the darkness, the avid description of the waves, I'd argue that it's about two people standing on the English coast, reflecting on their love for one another with a rather bittersweet sentimentality." He said it all straight, confident, unconcerned with whether his answer was correct or not.

"Good, good," their teacher affirmed, though she was clearly looking for a little more than that. And Dean, who'd furrowed his brows at Cas's response, pulled his opened textbook partway onto his desk to see what, exactly, they were supposed to have read.

"_Dover Beach?_" he mouthed silently to Cas, who nodded, seeming surprised at his sudden interest.

"Were there thoughts from anyone else on the poem?" Their teacher asked a moment later, a heavy, dead silence falling on the room. Either because no one thought anything on it, or were too nervous about being wrong to raise their hands. Which Dean supposed he could understand. _Dover Beach _was little above the high school level, even though they were in an AP class.

The silence tolled on, their teacher waiting stubbornly. Eyes flicking over to Cas – who was so close, and smelled like cinnamon – Dean took in his dapper sweater, his collared shirt underneath. Lookin' all smart and nerdy-hot. And, well, damn, this silence was really sad. And Dean wasn't stupid. He wanted Cas to know that. He really, really wanted Cas to know that.

And showing off, well, that was one of Dean's specialties.

"Look," he didn't even bother raising his hand, all eyes snapping his way as he interjected himself into the silence. Amanda's expression immediately dropped, as if she expected some kind of unhelpfully useless comment out of him, which Dean took great joy in refuting. "Dover Beach is about the transitioning period in the mid to late 1800s, when England was going through a huge religious evolution where people were beginning to question the logic behind the church." He laid his hands out on the desk, as if to gesture the meaning into understanding.

Amanda was blinking in surprise, Cas staring at him with wide blue eyes.

"The last line is 'Where ignorant armies clash by night,'" he continued, not even having to look down at the book, "which is talking about the fighting going on between the religious sects and the up and coming questioning groups, who were doubting the church. They're ignorant because the speaker is feeling caught in the middle, which is why he's standing on the coast looking out at France. He doesn't know who is right, and he knows that they don't either. 'Cliffs of England stand / Gimmering and vast,' blah, blah, blah, he's using the water between England and France as a metaphor for his feelings about it. He says at the beginning that the 'sea is calm,' but it only looks that way. There's waves and pebbles gettin' flung around – it's all about how things seem okay on the outside, but on the inside shit's all fucked up. Nobody knows what to think and everyone is confused.

"'The sea of faith,' he says, I think, in the third stanza," everyone was full out gaping at him by that point, "is where he really addresses the subject. Religion was once this great, powerful thing, but now it's a 'withdrawing roar.' It's weakened and this is hard for him to take because it's basically ripping apart a culture that's survived on religious doctrine since, I dunno, forever. And then in the last part, you're right," he looked at Cas only quickly before turning back to the front of the room, "he does seem to be addressing a lover of some sort. He's talking about the two of them choosing to have faith or whatever in one another because the world is shitty and undependable. So they'll stand on this 'darkling plain' together and watch, taking comfort from each other when there isn't any to get anywhere else."

Sitting back, he crossed his arms over his chest, secretly satisfied at the way Cas was completely dumbstruck over what he'd just said. It was nice to see similar expressions on everyone else in the room as well, but mostly he only cared about Cas. He'd proven what he'd set out to, which seemed to push any of his remaining nervousness right out the window.

"That's… very good, Dean," Amanda eventually stammered, Cas's mouth clamping shut in the same instance. He wasn't shocked so much because he'd thought Dean was stupid, because he really, truly, had never thought that, but mostly because he hadn't imagined he'd be so incredibly astute about analyzing something like poetry. He'd had lines memorized, like he'd read the poem before.

Over and over again.

"I hope you were all listening," Amanda straightened her demeanor, clearing her throat in an attempt to pull attention back her way. "The conflict in this poem is just as Dean explained. He brought up a few examples, but are there any other lines in the poem any of you feel reflect a similar idea?"

And so class moved on, Cas's eyes still quite intent on Dean.

"I told you I didn't need tutoring in English," he whispered, leaning in a little closer so no one else would hear.

"I never thought you did, or that you were stupid," Cas cut right to the point, a kind of playfulness creasing his eyes. "That was really sexy though."

Dean grinned. "Don't ask me to serenade you. That won't happen." Probably.

"Dean, Castiel," their teacher had her eye on them nonetheless. "Just because you managed to answer one question," she was mostly looking at Dean, "doesn't mean you can whisper during the rest of my class." Hands raised defensively, Dean made of a point of leaning away from Cas. It wasn't enough however, Amanda gesturing for him to scoot back over into his regular spot (since he obviously didn't need the book). Rolling his eyes, he noisily put his desk back into place, supposing he'd just have to settle for texting Cas instead.

Five minutes later, they were told to put their phones away.

Class had to come to a close eventually however, Dean rising from his seat and dawdling only some as Cas gathered his things. Being in the back, they were the last to leave, Cas trailing just behind Dean as they weaved between the desks.

"Dean," their teacher said as they reached the front, looking up at them from behind her desk. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Pausing, Dean only allowed a quick look of curiosity to flash through his expression before he smiled that cocky grin, knowing perfectly well what she'd want to talk to him about.

"No can do, Mandy," he winked. "Got a lot of classes to skip today. People to see, things to do." He saluted, continuing on his way to the door even as their teacher let out an exasperated huff. She looked to Cas secondly, as if expecting him to do something (since they were clearly friends), but he could only shrug.

The last thing they heard from her as they walked out the door was her tongue clicking in disapproval.

"She's probably going to hate you even more now," Cas started as they headed toward his locker, side by side. "Because she's always going to be wondering how much you actually know about the material." Cas eyed him knowingly. "And how much you're just keeping to yourself."

"It's part of my charm," Dean smiled over at him.

"What? Being inherently difficult?"

"Call it what you want," he lowered his voice. "It certainly got your attention."

Cas hummed thoughtfully. "What was wrong earlier?" he deviated. "You seemed really upset at the beginning of class." He'd turned those furrowed brows on him, their heavy darkness seeming to only weigh Cas's expression further.

"It was nothing," Dean assured as he leaned lazily beside Cas's locker. "I was just being stupid." He smiled again, but it was different than his usual snark. It was real, and honest, and Cas knew it meant something. For them both. "So," Dean tried to move onto another subject. "We should get together tonight." Always with the low voices and the undertones.

"I have swim practice tonight," Cas replied simply, pulling his locker open and slowing beginning to stack his things inside.

"_Voluntary_ swim practice," Dean leaned forward a little. "C'mon, skip it. I want to see you." He reached out and tugged lightly on the arm of Cas's sweater. "Mondays are the only days I have off work." Which meant they wouldn't be seeing much of each other till the end of the week otherwise.

His final defense seemed to clinch it, Cas sighing in defeat. "Fine," he agreed, Dean's smile coming back full force. "But you'll have to come in unnoticed. My father's getting back today and I'm not allowed to have people over when he's home." Still their voices were just barely above a whisper, students filing by behind.

"I can do that," Dean assured as Cas closed his locker again. Turning so they were facing each other, he held his books out in front of him, watching as Dean's smile was slowly folded into a lip bite, only a sliver of his teeth visible as he obviously looked Cas up and down.

And Cas couldn't help checking him out in the same manner, his own cheek wedged between his teeth as his heart sped up in his chest. Because he could imagine what Dean was thinking about, and Dean knew that he was then thinking about it, and soon they were thinking about it together. And then Cas was licking his lips, and Dean was wanting to kiss him right there, and it was all very heated and tempting and exciting.

"Wow," Balthazar's voice jarred into their thoughts, his phone lowering as he looked between them. "Why don't you two just jump each other here in the hallway? I don't think anyone would notice the difference." His commentary had earned him displeased looks from both, Dean pursing his lips as Cas glanced to the side.

"Whatever, Balthazar," was all Dean could come up with as he pushed himself away from the lockers. He cast one last look at Cas as he left, soon vanishing amongst the crowd, blue eyes staring after.

"You're done for," Balthazar commented, looking back down at his phone. "You two are having sex, aren't you?"

"What?" Cas tried to sound aghast, but he'd never been a very good liar.

"Try and hide it all you want, I know," Balthazar assured. "No one can sneak that sort of thing by me. If we were animals, you two would be giving off enough pheromones to constitute a heat. Besides, I saw his car parked in your drive yesterday. Sure there's a few acres between us, but I can still see your house from mine." Cas was not amused. "Don't worry, I won't mention it to anyone else."

"I think they already know," Cas muttered, supposing there was no point in rejecting Balthazar's logic.

Their eyes met again. "They _think_ they know. There's a big difference."

Cas couldn't think of a response.

"You two are just doing the deed, right?" Balthazar started a second later, sounding almost serious. "I would think that's what it'd be considering it's Dean Winchester."

This analysis didn't please Cas in the least. "I don't know," he verified, thinking on it for just a moment before leaning up from the locker. "Yes," he shrugged, sighing shortly, "that's all it is." Without another word, he walked off, leaving Balthazar to stare after him curiously.

**oOo**

It was a lot harder to sneak over the fence during the daytime than it was at night. For one, they had their guard or whatever he was at the gate. Dean assumed the sentry could see a generous part of the yard from his little box and window. That being said, Dean had been forced to go way around, sneaking through Balthazar's yard at the far end of the Novak fence. Hefting himself over, he'd then gone darting between bushes and trees, making sure to stay hidden.

It'd been kind of fun actually, Dean getting an immature kind of thrill out of the whole thing. Peeking his head over the tops of the foliage and what not. Plus, breathing heavy, he felt far more accomplished when he finally reaching the tree sitting just beyond Cas's balcony. He'd have to retell his struggle and maybe get a well-earned reward.

With that in mind, he bit at his bottom lip thoughtfully, thinking of the best way he'd be getting up into Cas's room. He supposed he could go with some cheesy calling up to the window thing again, but repeat acts weren't really his style. Besides, there was a chance he could be seen this time around. Best to stick to stealth mode.

Eye narrowed, he surveyed the bottom edge of the balcony. If he jumped high enough…

Not much for contemplating plans, Dean was soon rushing forth, a devious grin on his face as he pumped his legs into action. Hitting the bottom step leading up to the side doors, he then vaulted onto the banister. One step, two, he was balanced just on the railing around the porch, his hands reaching up as his legs thrust him into one final leap.

His fingers just gripped the bottom trim beneath Cas's balcony, the muscles in his arms straining as the rest of his body dropped like whiplash. He stayed up however, dangling precariously. Teeth gritted, he quickly began to scrape upward. Putting all his weight on one hand, he rocked himself further up on the trim, grappling until he was gripping the top edge. Legs scrambling after, he continued to climb, skin red with strain as his veins swelled in his arms. Breathing heavily, he was soon grasping at the bars supporting the railing, his hands nearly numb by the time he safely had his feet propped against the trim.

With his legs back under him, the rest of the climb was easy. Pulling himself up, he jumped over the banister and landed in an adrenaline-spurred crouch on the other side. Licking the sweat from his lips, he took in how the doors had been opened before him, like Cas had been awaiting his arrival.

Ignoring how his arms and legs quivered, he headed right on in.

"Cas?" he called somewhat quietly. Stepping all the way in, he looked quickly around, peering behind some of the pillars and finding it somewhat odd when no one came out to greet him. "Cas?" he said again, a little louder this time as he walked across the room.

But all was quiet.

Dean was efficient however, making sure to check all possible outlets. Which was why he smiled smugly upon seeing the way the door into Cas's closet was cracked open. Bingo.

Sauntering over, smile filled with expectation, he was almost pushing his way inside when a noise caused him pause. Not so much a noise, actually, as it was a voice. Outside the door, distant, but still audible.

"You're unbelievable!" A woman. She was yelling, Dean's smile vanishing as he furrowed his brows curiously. "That's right! Go ahead! Leave!" she continued, Dean imagining that she was probably pretty far off in the house, but that the sheer volume of her shouts were enough to reach Cas's bedroom.

"Don't act like this is my fault!" A deeper voice – a man's. It was an argument, or so Dean quickly deduced. "You want me to leave, then I'll leave! But don't come marching in here like it was my idea!"

"Cas?" Dean's voice was much quieter now, his hand pulling on the door that led into the closet. "You in here, buddy?" He crept inside, all the while listening as the woman outside continued screaming.

"So it's my fault now?! Yeah, right! It's always my fault! Everything you do is always _my_ fault!"

Dean wasn't the least bit eased upon finally finding Cas. In fact, the sight of him nearly sent Dean's heart into his stomach. He was sitting, legs pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. He was inside one of the empty hanger compartments, his head propped against the wall. What was probably the worst, however, was the look on his face. Drawn, lips tight, pale. The way his cheekbones rose sharply always gave him slight bags under his eyes – in a deep, brooding sense – but at that moment they simply looked heavy, as if draining all the beauty from his features.

And of course his stare. Dead blue. Like he'd been through this a million times over.

"You're the one that's impossible to be around!" the man yelled harshly, the sound of their voices seeming almost amplified in the closet. "I _would_ be around more except that every time I am, I know you're trying to make me feel guilty!"

"Cas," Dean muttered, swiftly walking over and crouching down in front of him. "Hey, you okay?" Those eyes just barely acknowledged him, twitching slightly before becoming empty once again. His jaw did tighten a little more however – perhaps in discomfort at what Dean was being witness to.

"You should feel guilty!" the woman screeched, her tone taking on a venomous nature. "You did everything to me! It's your fault my life ended up like this! Embarrassment! Shame! Do you know what people say about me?!"

"People say! People say! I don't _care_ what people say!"

"You don't 'care' about anything!"

"Cas, c'mon," Dean murmured, not entirely sure what he was asking for. He touched Cas lightly on the leg, but it didn't garner any sort of response. Nothing was, Cas seemingly intent on only listening.

"You never gave me the _chance_ to care! You were pointing fingers from the day we-"

"You showed me how much you cared the day you slept with that _whore_!"

Dean was kind of putting the pieces together.

"It's your fault I slept with her!"

Dean cocked his eyebrow at that ludicrous accusation, watching Cas intently, who still wasn't doing a single thing. He wondered if maybe he should leave, but if this was what always pushed Cas into bouts of drugs and craziness, he didn't want to.

"I'm not the one that lacked self control!"

"No, you're always trying to 'control' everything! It's suffocating!"

"Maybe I wouldn't need to control everything if you didn't sleep with the hired help!"

"You're never going to let this go, are you?!"

"Let it go?! You have an illegitimate daughter! In the neighborhood! Who hangs around with our _son_!"

Giving himself over to the long haul, Dean situated himself cross-legged in front of Cas, ears trained on the words outside.

"What was I supposed to do?!"

"You should have gotten rid of her!" This comment did cause Cas to close his eyes momentarily, as if it were a blow he was used to taking. "You should have marched that whore down to the nearest clinic and gotten rid of her!"

"There's those great Christian values again!"

"Don't talk to me about Christian values! You're the one that has a bastard daughter! And probably sleeps around every time you leave anyway! You never did respect me enough not to!"

"If that's how you feel, then why the hell'd you marry me in the first place?!"

"You know why I married you!" Shrieking. Ear-grating screeches. "I didn't have a choice!" Such words didn't leave much to the imagination, Dean easily able to deduce what she meant. He was betting Cas's parents were celebrating their eighteenth or nineteenth "anniversary" that year.

Cas's continually sinking looks kind of gave it away too. More facts he'd probably known far longer than he should have.

"Don't act like I trapped you! You had a choice! I tried to get you to make the right one, but you wouldn't listen! And now here we are!"

Cas's hands flexed against his legs.

"I should have divorced you a long time ago! I should have left!"

"You're gone all the time anyway!"

"Don't act like it bothers you!"

"It bothers me what other people say about it! About you! You're like a stain I can't get out of my life! A disgrace!"

"Then do it! Get the papers! I'll sign them!"

"And leave me with the responsibility of all your mistakes?! You're not the one that's here all the time! Stuck! Trapped in this godforsaken house all the time with-"

"You're never here! Don't treat me like I'm stupid! You spend more on your stupid parties and your-"

"I wish I'd never met you!" Petulant children, or so Dean was thinking. "You're right! I should have listened to you! I should have gotten an abortion!

"I wish he'd never been born!"

Dean couldn't help the way his lips gaped some at that, his features falling completely to anguish as he watched Cas. Watched as he leaned forward, his nose burrowing into his knees. His eyes filled only momentarily with a wave of despair, and guilt, before it was all overcome by grief.

Hurt – displayed about as purely as Dean had ever seen it.

Cas was blinking rapidly, Dean's own shock at the statement quickly getting smashed out by anger. Because these people were disgusting and he already hated them. He didn't even know their names, but he completely and utterly despised them.

Scowling, his hands balled into fists.

"So do I!" And it only got _worse_. "Yet here we are! Eighteen years ago, if you hadn't been such a stuck-up little slut, I never would have had to see you again! Instead, I have a wife I never wanted and a son I never asked for!" A daughter too for that matter, Dean baffled that this guy would really try playing the victim card.

"That makes two of us!"

"That's it," Dean decided, standing abruptly. "C'mon," he reached down and forcefully took Cas's hand, those blue eyes flicking up to him. They were questioning, and bare. Exposed and ashamed. "We're getting out of here."

Because these people weren't parents, they were dirt. And they were hurting the only one in the whole mess not to blame for a damn thing.

"Dean…" Cas's voice cracked out brokenly, his arm outstretched at Dean's bidding, but going no further. Like he couldn't bring himself to get up – to leave these horrific people. But he wasn't obligated to sit and listen to their petty regrets, and Dean wasn't going to let him.

"You get up right now or I swear to God I will haul you out myself." He hadn't meant to sound so dangerous or threatening, but that was simply how it'd all tumbled out. He was just so angry, and upset. Upset because Cas was upset. Because he'd probably had to endure such abusive words his whole life. For all of Dean's own familial problems, he'd never been in a situation where either of his parents would wish he'd never existed.

Cas didn't respond initially, his lips tight and pale as he stared up at Dean. He felt like stone, numb because that was how he had to be – the only way to get through it. And it wasn't until Dean's hand flexed around his, warmth apparent there, that Cas finally found his legs. Gulping, he slowly stood – as if pulling himself from hardened concrete, shaky and weighted. But Dean helped him; he yanked him to his feet when Cas thought he'd give way.

And he kept pulling.

Stumbling out of the closet, Cas stared down at his hand in Dean's, allowing himself to be led across the vast expanse of room. His parents' screaming words were drowned away, the sound of his own heart in his ears louder and louder the farther Dean dragged him. Until it beat so loudly that the throbbing made him nauseous.

"Hey, c'mon, pull yourself together," Dean's voice scolded harshly, Cas only vaguely aware that they were standing out on his balcony. A cool breeze rushed by them, chilling the sweat that had beaded all over his skin. It only made him feel worse. "Seriously, we're getting out of here." He could see Dean's green eyes looking at him, wavering some. There were strong hands on his shoulders, holding him steady.

"I can't," Cas shook his head, the words seemingly forming before he thought them. "I have to stay here."

"No, you don't. Now let's go."

He couldn't go.

"Cas!"

He _couldn't_.

"Goddammit! Snap out of it!"

Heated pain burst out across his cheek.

Stumbling up against the railing, Cas blinked, some of the clouds clearing as he instinctively reached up to cradle where the ache swelled, tinted red though he couldn't see it.

Before him, fingers fisted, Dean's hand was still raised, teeth clenched as he stared. Cas could see the way his lips quivered slightly, the breeze trembling the tops of his hair. He gulped, big green eyes twitching back and forth, as if looking for something.

Searching.

"Cas," his name was breathed from between those rounded lips. "Let's go."

_Come away from this place._

"Run with me."

_So tell me when you run, I want to run with you._

"Okay."

_Tell me where you hide, I want to come to you. _

Dean was jumping over the balcony, stretching back down to the steps before turning up to Cas, arms outstretched.

_Tell me where you go, I want to go there too._

Breath shaky, Cas pulled his legs over, holding onto the railing as he leaned forward. As he felt the wind rush up against his face, tossing his hair back as Dean reached up to him.

_Even if you fall I will go down with you._

He let go.

_I will be the one who comes to rescue you._

He collapsed into Dean's arms, stumbling forward. But that steady embrace caught him, held him up from the ground and stood him straight. And then Dean's hand was in his again, and he was staggering down the steps into the yard. They were running – Cas followed the flapping of that leather coat, the way those boots skimmed through the grass.

He shadowed each step, not knowing where they led, but not caring anymore either.

Because it didn't matter.

_Tell me where you go cause I want to be there too._

It was a blur, Cas's faith in the man pulling him onward leaving little room to process or question. The fence, they climbed it. Balthazar's yard, they dashed along it. They skidded out into the barren street, hands still clasped as their shoes tapped against the asphalt. As they swerved to the side, around a curb, and down a grade. Down, down, down to the gas station on the corner, the black Impala parked in the lot.

Dean was pulling open the passenger side door, sliding in. He dragged Cas in after him, who instinctively reached back to close the car up behind.

Their breathing was heavy, adrenaline pumping.

But then Dean was reaching for the steering wheel, was letting go of his hand, and Cas felt the world crashing down around him – pieces that had momentarily been held up by the sunlight, but had dropped inside the shadows.

"I'm sorry," he blurted suddenly, his hands straining on either side of his legs, trying to grip at the leather seats, but finding the fabric too slippery.

"Sorry?" Dean turned back to him, looking curious. "Sorry about what?" His hand had paused beside the ignition, keys dangling. The clinking of the metal was the only noise, Cas unable to answer Dean's question. Was he sorry for his parents' argument? For how he reacted to it? For the fact that Dean had heard it at all? Maybe none of it.

Or all of it.

Everything.

"Don't apologize, Cas," Dean continued a second later. "You don't have anything to apologize for." He was twisting the key in the ignition, trying to refocus.

"I do."

"No, you don't!" Dean actually snapped then, the car still sitting cold as he turned his head sharply to Cas. "So stop saying you're sorry. I don't want to hear it anymore." He was upset still, which only made Cas feel worse. He hadn't meant to make Dean angry, to drag him into all this.

"Dean, I'm so-"

"Stop!" The interruption was harsh, Dean's breathing heavy and hard. "Stop it, Cas, or I swear to _God_…" His hand flexed into a fist, his threat full yet empty all in the same moment. "I don't want to hear you apologize for being born ever again, alright?

"Never again."

Cas gulped, his chest seeming to shrink away. He didn't know what to say, or do, or think. He was just so sorry, and felt so terrible. Like everything in his body was empty, just thin skin ready to collapse in on itself. He knew he was shrinking away from Dean, and he was sorry for that too. He was being a burden, a bother.

He shouldn't be there. He didn't need anyone, and no one needed him. Of that he was certain.

"Cas, c'mon," Dean forced his voice to soften, aware of the way the other man had folded back from him. He hadn't meant to be so forceful, but what those people had done, what they'd said, it just made him so angry. Cas didn't deserve that, and he wasn't going to let him think that he did. "Cas, it's okay," he tried to comfort. "It's alright."

Those blue eyes flicked back up to him, hurt and foggy, like they were glazed over by a film of something Dean couldn't place. Couldn't understand. And it stabbed at him like a knife that he couldn't. That Cas was dealing with something he couldn't comprehend. Because when he'd been lost, and scared, and confused, Cas had known exactly how he'd felt. Known exactly what to say.

But Dean...

Yet he had to do something.

Quickly, feeling anxious as well as useless, Dean slid across the bench seat. He wrapped his arms around Cas's shoulders, holding him tight and forcing him into the embrace. His face was pressed to Dean's chest, who'd leaned his chin atop that dark, mussed hair. He held him, tight, even as Cas failed to respond in kind – arms hanging loosely at his side, like a doll or mannequin.

But Dean was squeezing, and Cas could hear his heartbeat in his ear. Feel the warmth that was draped over him. A heater when it was cold, or an umbrella that blocked out the rain. That was what Dean became in that moment, Cas blinking, lips pursing, as he finally reached up. He pulled his arms up beneath the back of Dean's coat, his fingers pulling at the fabric of his t-shirt.

He buried his nose in Dean's muscular chest, closing his eyes as that leather and spice washed over him.

And though he was quiet – was expressing little – Dean felt in the way Cas's fingers dug at his back, flexed, that maybe the gesture was doing good. Had meant something. Laying his lips against the top of Cas's head, he paused for only a moment before then allowing his cheek to lie heavily amongst those locks. Pulling Cas against him as closely as he could, he ran his hands gingerly up and down his back. He closed his eyes.

And he waited.

The Impala was parked in the back of the lot, away from prying eyes, and so Dean feared little that they'd be seen. Yet, in that moment, considering what Cas was feeling and how many other times he'd likely had to deal with it before, Dean wasn't sure he'd even care if anyone spotted them. Because Cas was his friend, and he was in pain. He'd hold him there all afternoon – all evening and night – if that was what he needed. If that would keep him from spiraling out of control.

From resorting to drugs or booze or whatever else he'd used to push the ache away. Because, while those things were good sometimes, Dean was beginning to come to the conclusion that they messed Cas up. And that wasn't okay.

"Dean?" Cas's deep voice interjected on the silence after some ten minutes, sounding almost uncertain.

"What?"

"I don't… I don't want to go back there. Not right now."

"Then you won't," Dean finally leaned back, Cas slowly dragging his blue eyes upward. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." His hands slipped up onto Cas's shoulders, Dean intent on continuing to hold him until _he_ deemed it was unnecessary. Until Cas slowly reached up, taking hold of both Dean's hands before lowering them. He squeezed their fingers together lightly, managing a soft smile that he hoped was encouraging, before they finally separated.

Hesitating only momentarily, Dean allowed himself to scoot back over into the driver's seat. The keys were still stuck in the ignition, and so he finally turned them, the car growling into life. It wasn't until he laid his hands on the steering wheel that he realized they actually had to go somewhere. Beside him, Cas had leaned up against the door, his hands in his lap as he stared out the window. He wasn't paying attention, preoccupied, and didn't care in the least where they went so long as it wasn't his parent's house.

Dean had limited options however. Well, mostly he had only one option. His trailer. Which made him nervous. Only his closest friends had ever been there, were allowed, and it certainly wasn't a mansion like Cas was used to. But where else was he supposed to go? It was the only place where they'd have privacy, regardless of what they were doing. Unless he got a hotel or something, but that was, one, expensive, two, trashy, and three, well, it'd likely be offensive to Cas.

No, he had his trailer. That was fine. Sam wasn't there; they'd be alone. Cas wasn't the judgmental type. And, well, if he did disapprove, Dean could take him somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Maybe that was what he should do to begin with…

No, it'd be fine.

Shaking his head shortly, he put the car into reverse before backing out, soon on the road and headed down the familiar streets. With every second that passed however, his stomach grew tighter. His nerves jumped higher. Until, finally, stopped at an intersection, he felt it necessary to say something.

"Hey, uh, Cas," he cleared his throat, Cas's head slowly pulling from his own distractions to listen in. "So, uh, where we're going. It's- It's my place, if that's alright."

"That's fine, Dean," Cas verified straight, seemingly having recovered some from what had happened. At least on the surface.

"Well, I just mean that it's… it's not, ya know, a mansion, or anything," he tapped is thumbs on the steering wheel. "It's not even a house, actually. It's more of a… a… well, it doesn't have wheels," he nodded over to Cas, as if that should be an important fact. "I guess, it could, but it doesn't, and-"

"Dean," Cas cut him off, their eyes meeting as the light ahead turned green. "I'm sure it's fine." Reaching across the seat, he laid his hand comfortingly on Dean's shoulder. "If you're that uncomfortable, I can… I can go home."

"No," Dean shook his head as he began to urge the car on through the intersection, aware of how Cas's shoulders had dropped in relief. "I just… wanted you to know. Before we got there." Cas's hand had fallen back again, his gaze still trained on Dean. He didn't say anything else however, eventually glancing back to the window. He wasn't the least bit concerned about where Dean lived or in what, and only hoped that upon them getting there, Dean would realize that as well.

Because he really, truly, had no desire to return to his parent's mansion.

He didn't care if Dean lived in a box.

He supposed, however, that he could understand why he might be paranoid, especially when they began to reach the south end of town. Not the most hospitable place, Cas had only ever been there to attend parties, and usually the worst kind of parties. He watched intently out the window as the houses got shabbier, the sidewalks more neglected. The shops with their rusted signs and boarded up windows. Really, Cas didn't see any ugliness in any of it. To him, compared to the stone fences and clean-cut lawns where he came from, it was a beautiful place. Because people lived in it, and the evidence was there. Even if in the state of empty beer bottles and cigarette butts.

Dean slowed, pulling the car to the right and into the drive of a shoddy trailer park. There was a chain link fence around the borders, but it was torn in many places, therefore doing little good. Most of the residences didn't have yards, just concrete, and they had to pause for a group of teenagers playing basketball in the street. Likely because there was nowhere else to play. None seemed at all perturbed by the Impala however, probably used to seeing it, and some of the neighbors – the few that were standing around – even waved. Dean gestured back quickly, looking almost embarrassed as he did. Some of the people that called his attention were, after all, what some might call backwater. Cas however, well, he found them utterly interesting. In an ignorant, naïve way that he was perfectly aware of.

They stopped in a small spot between two trailers. The one on the left had a short fence running up beside it, blocking them off, so Cas could only assume the one on the right belonged to Dean. It was modest, true, but looked well taken care of. White paneling, tanned shingles. Concrete steps led up to the screen door, a single light hanging above. There was no yard, the property appearing small. It was off to the side – out of the main circle – but perhaps that was better.

"It's, uh, not much, but…" Dean gestured to it quickly as he shut the car down, not looking Cas in the eyes as he did. "It's still got a roof, so…"

"It's fine," Cas assured once again. "Really." Dean did look over at him finally, but only quickly. Perhaps he'd wanted to say something more, but then thought better of it. Instead, he turned to the door, pushing his way out before Cas did the same shortly after. They looked at each other over the car, but another voice interjected upon them before anything else could be done.

"D-Dog!" It was a man from the trailer next door. He was hanging out his door, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, a handlebar mustache hanging under his nose. "I was hoping I'd catch you." He had a friendly smile, only looking at Cas shortly before focusing back on Dean.

"Sonny, what's up?" Dean asked, quickly covering any of the awkwardness he'd had previously.

"Got a desk in here I need to move," he gestured with a thumb into his trailer. "Wonderin' if you could help me with it real quick."

"Uh," Dean twitched his head only quickly to Cas before looking again to "Sonny." "Sure thing." Sonny appeared pleased, nodding before backing into his home once again, his screen door slapping closed. "Here," Dean focused quickly back on Cas. "You can, uh, go inside." He tossed the keys over the car, which Cas deftly caught. "I'll only be a minute."

Standing beside the car for a moment longer, he then whipped around – quite as though he was throwing his body into action – before heading on over to Sonny's trailer. Cas, however, glad to have curiosity enough to distract, headed up the concrete steps to Dean's own trailer. Pulling open the screen door, he twisted the key in the lock until it clicked before slowly pushing his way inside.

The first thing he noticed was how clean the place was. Though the carpet, the couches, had some stains, they were very clearly fresh. No clothes or dirty dishes sat around, the shoes beside the door stacked up neatly. A dust-free fan slowly spun above his head, Cas unsure whether he could continue on past the step with his shoes on or not. Because it really was clean. Very, very clean.

"Uh, hi." Not one to be startled, Cas turned his head over his shoulder at the unfamiliar voice, spotting a young man coming down a short hall toward him. He was tall, gangly, and had shaggy brown hair. Cas supposed he must be Dean's younger brother.

"Hello," he replied, unsure what to say. He hadn't anticipated that anyone else would be there. Dean hadn't implied that there would be.

"Are you…?" the boy pulled aside a curtain beside him, looking out a window. Probably to verify that his brother's car was outside. "Are you a friend of Dean's?"

"Yes," because what else was he supposed to say? "He's helping your neighbor and gave me the keys." Cas held them up, if only so it'd be totally understood that he hadn't broken in. "My name is Castiel."

"I'm Sam," was his slow response, as if he still didn't fully trust the situation. "Listen man, sorry, but… how do you and my brother know each other? He doesn't usually bring random people over." So it was strange that he was there then? Cas wasn't sure what to make of such information. Mostly because Dean was so socially abled, he would have assumed that he had people over all the time. Could he really be so private that the presence of someone new would elicit questioning?

Then again, perhaps Dean was the type to normally keep his social and personal lives separate. Maybe that was part of the reason he'd been so nervous. Because Cas was "social," not anything deeper.

He felt abruptly guilty – like perhaps he'd forced Dean into bringing him there.

"We go to school together," he replied to Sam's question.

"Oh… okay…" No, it hadn't been a very specific answer.

Dean burst in a second later, Cas stumbling forward out of the way as he did.

"Sorry Cas, I was- Sam? What are you doing here?" His attention snapped from one to the other.

"Well I do live here," Sam snarked, his skinny arms crossing over his chest. Dean was not amused however, his lips pinching together. "Kevin and his mom had to go help his grandmother with something after school, so I couldn't go over there, alright?"

"How did you get home?" Dean's tone was serious, scolding even, Cas unsure how he was supposed to be interpreting the dynamic between the two. Mostly because, for the first time, he found himself wondering about Dean's parents.

"I… walked…" Sam sounded hesitant, as if aware his response wouldn't go over well.

"What?!" Anger pounded out of Dean's voice. "Alone? All the way from school?!" Clearly, the fact that Cas was there had been momentarily forgotten. "What the hell, Sam? You should have called me!"

"You said you were going to be busy!" Sam rebuked heatedly. "I'm fourteen years old! How long is it going to take before you stop treating me like a kid? I think I'm old enough to be at home by myself!"

"I'll stop treating you like a kid when you stop acting like one! How stupid do you have to be, Sam, to walk around this side of town by yourself? You think I just walk around all on my own? That's a good way to get mugged, or worse!" He'd gestured sharply toward his brother, who'd clamped his mouth shut in silent defiance. "You should have called me! Going out on your own, carrying a backpack looking like a student, is about the easiest way to get messed up!" Aside from being a woman. "Goddammit, Sammy, what the hell?!"

"Sorry!" Sam defended weakly, probably because he knew Dean was right and there wasn't much else to say on the matter. "I didn't want to bother you, okay?!" He was trying to continue to rebel, but clearly didn't have the gumption to carry it through.

Dean was rubbing his temples in frustration.

"I told Sonny I was here…" Sam then explained, voice even lower than before. Submissive perhaps. "And I called Jo. She was coming over because I knew you wouldn't like that I was here by myself…" He hadn't been entirely stupid.

"Next time, just call me, alright? Nothing I'm doing is ever that important."

"Sorry…" He gave in fully to being wrong, looking down at the floor as a heavy silence wedged its way between them. One that stretched out and grabbed at Cas too, Sam's curious eyes eventually coming up to him again. In the same moment, Dean seemed to remember he was there as well.

"Uh, this is Cas," he gestured to him shortly. "Cas, this is my brother, Sam." Who wasn't supposed to be there.

"Yeah, I know," Sam muttered.

"You said Jo was coming over?" Dean moved on. "When?" Because reality was coming back to him. He hadn't intended that anyone see him with Cas, but now that cat was clearly out of the bag. His brother was one thing however. His friends were quite another. Charlie was the only one in the know, and he hadn't anticipated having to ever explain himself to someone else. But Jo would definitely be suspicious – because Dean didn't just bring anyone home. Ever. That Cas was there meant… meant that he was "close," a label Dean felt rather forced into. Mostly by Cas's own circumstance. Sure, it was possible that he could have become "close friends" with Cas, but not without his other friends realizing. Not so quickly.

Flicking his gaze to the aforementioned man, he considered what he should do. He knew that, if asked, Cas would leave. He could tell by the look on his face, in how his blue eyes fell to the carpet, that he'd go if Dean deemed that he needed to.

It was the scared part of Dean that wanted him gone. He knew that. Because, really, he had no desire that Cas go, not after what had happened. But if he did stay, Jo would want an explanation. Dean's trailer was as much a base for their friend-group as Garth's place, or Ellen's. His friends had stuff around the place just as well as he did – Ellen's dishes sat in his cupboards, Benny's base guitar was leaning against his living room wall, Charlie's stack of computers and parts were behind his dining room table. It was all there. And then there was Cas, who was from a completely different side of the fence.

Jo would only have so many conclusions she could come to. But Dean wasn't sure he was ready for that. It'd been hard enough coming out to Charlie, and she was a lesbian. He hadn't wanted to face anyone else. Not Jo, not Benny or Garth. Not Sam.

Christ, what did Sam think? The trailer that had always been theirs, that only their closest friends were allowed in, and Dean had invited Cas. Not to say that Sam would be unwelcoming, but he was probably just as suspicious as Jo would be.

"She should be here any time," Sam replied as Dean's thoughts continued to rush quickly back and forth.

"Dean, I can go," Cas nodded to the door, knowing perfectly well that Dean was struggling with some kind of internal battle concerning his sexuality. With revealing it. "It's fine. I can go to Anna's or Gabriel's."

"No," Dean said flat out. "You don't need to be around Gabriel." That was where he got the drugs in the first place, Cas pursing his lips at this rather over-protective stance. Gabriel was his cousin after all, and Cas could make his own choices just fine. Yet, despite this slight defensiveness, he couldn't ignore the self-conscious warmth that blossomed in his chest. Because Dean was trying to protect him. From himself. "You're fine here, Cas. It doesn't matter. I'll deal with it."

"Deal with what?" Sam asked, clearly puzzled as he finally left the shadows of the hall.

"Dean, really, it's fi-"

"Cas, shut the fuck up, alright?" Dean ignored Sam's question as he stepped fully up into the trailer, his focus trained on Cas. "You're staying, so just… stop talking about it." He flicked his eyes back to Sam only quickly, who was clearly questioning the odd commentary, but didn't bother giving an explanation. Instead, jaw tight, he turned away from them both, heading across the trailer to the far side before disappearing down another hall.

Sam cleared his throat, looking again at Cas.

Cas, who was staying.

Reaching down, he tried to distract himself from the inquiring stare of Sam by beginning to remove his shoes. Untying them, he set them near the others stacked up against the wall, careful not to disturb anything as he did.

Sam still watched him.

Having little choice but to turn and face him again, Cas cleared his throat. "So… you're fourteen?" He was no good at making polite conversation.

"Yeah," Sam's eyes were narrowed.

"You go to… middle school then?" Where had Dean gone off to? Why had he left him there?

"Yes…"

Cas nodded, looking away as Sam's eyes narrowed even further.

"Sam, I thought you said Dean wasn't here," Jo's voice called as she pushed her way inside. "His car is… Castiel Novak?"

Cas pursed his lips, cursing Dean as well as he felt thankful for him. He needed to come back from wherever he'd gone.

"Castiel Novak?!" Another voice interjected, Cas feeling his whole heart plummet as Charlie Bradbury pushed her way inside the trailer after Jo. "Castiel Novak!" He entire face lit up in a knowing way that made Cas somewhat uncomfortable.

People continued to filter in however, Cas backing up into the living area until both women as well as Benny Lafitte and Garth Fitzgerald stood staring at him through wide, surprised eyes. So clearly it was very, _very_ uncommon that Dean bring anyone new back to his trailer. Great.

"Hello…" he said rather lamely when none of Dean's friends could manage to find any words. His attention flicked back to the direction Dean had disappeared to a moment before, thankful when he reappeared within the moment.

"Oh goddammit," he said under his breath as he spotted everyone standing around his door. He tried to think of something to say as he walked over to join them, but no viable circumstance was coming to mind. Other than the fact that none of it was any of their business whatsoever.

"Hey, Dean," Garth blundered, pointing to Cas. "Castiel Novak's in your trailer." Charlie felt his pain at the comment, her eyes rolling in tandem with Dean's.

"Thank you, because I had no idea." He'd removed his leather jacket, feet bare, jeans replaced with sweats. Finally coming upon a stubborn mindset, he refused to elaborate any further, instead staring each other them down – daring them to ask. Even Garth could see it, his lips remaining closed. And when none of them said any more on the subject, Dean deemed himself satisfied. No questions, not from any of them.

"Sam," Dean turned to his little brother, "have you done your homework yet?"

"N-no," not that he needed the reminder. Dean gave him a look however, one that sent him skirting back to his room, and so the exchange ended. Turning back to his kitchen, Dean stalked off, Cas glancing only quickly to the other four before deciding he'd best go after him.

Behind, he four of them looking between one another, Dean's friends exchanged questioning looks, only Charlie having the know-all to shake her head. To tell the others to keep their mouths shut. They, then, became even more curious toward her, but it was clear the subject wasn't to be discussed at the current time. Therefore, those more astute in their actions decided that the best thing they could do was act normal, no matter how odd it was. Granted, their heads were buzzing. Either with blind questions in the case of Garth, quiet pondering in Benny, and straight up jumping to conclusion she couldn't quite believe in Jo. Charlie, well, she was on an entirely different level. Because she knew Dean was sleeping with Castiel, but the fact that he was in the trailer implied a whole plethora of "other."

Answers were hardly within reach however, Jo pushing forward directly before taking a seat at the dining table beside Cas. Dean was at the counter, putting together what looked like a sandwich. Back turned, he was probably purposefully ignoring them.

Head in her hand, blonde hair loose and hanging down, she stared unabashed at Cas, who pursed his lips, but said nothing. Benny remained in the living room, keeping his distance as he sat on the arm of the couch. Charlie was leaning against the kitchen counter, and Garth pulled out the chair next to Jo, his lips frowning up at Dean.

Silence hung over them all. Until Sam came back in, a laptop in his hands. He slowed upon taking in the odd atmosphere of the kitchen – the way Dean was slamming the mayonnaise on the counter – but then plucked up the courage and approached his brother directly.

Sam was only a little shorter than Dean, but Cas thought that, by the looks of him, he was probably going to soon be taller, all those gangly limbs looking rather extra large for his body.

"Dean, can you help me with this?" His older brother looked to him. "It's that paper I was telling you about, the one I have to write about that story."

"Cathedral?" Dean knew exactly what he was talking about. "I thought I said you needed to pick something easier. That's barely a high school level piece." He leaned his hip against his counter lazily, sandwich momentarily forgotten as he took to Sam's plea.

"I'm in advanced placement," Sam defended with a frown, which caused Dean to roll his eyes.

"Cathedral," Jo finally tore her eyes from Cas, much to his relief. "That's the one with the jerky husband and his wife with the blind man that comes to visit, right?" Sam nodded. "We just read that in _my_ lit class. What in the world are you reading that for?"

"He got to choose the piece he did his essay on," Dean verified. "I don't know why you had to choose that one. It's one of the harder ones to understand and talk about."

"I've already got the beginning of the essay done," Sam griped.

Cas remained silent, becoming more and more enraptured by this part of Dean he'd never seen before. This older brother, father figure that knew short stories by name and poetry by verse. He never would have fathomed it had he not heard and seen it for himself.

"What's the problem then?" Dean sighed.

"Well, the first part just has to be summary," Sam admitted. "And then I have to talk about what the message in the story is and how it relates to society today." Which he'd thought would be easy with a story like _Cathedral_ because it was relatively new as far as literature. However, though Sam was far above and beyond his peers, English wasn't his strongest subject.

"Well, that story's about not judging a book by its cover, right? About overcoming prejudice? That's relatable to today," Jo offered, Dean returning to his sandwich as Sam took the last chair at the table.

"Yeah, you could go that route," Dean shrugged. "That's only surface stuff though."

"That's what my class was talking about," Jo defended. "But please, Professor Winchester, enlighten me further. Since I'm assuming my _entire class_ must have missed the point of the story." She sounded sarcastic, but also amused. As if she knew perfectly well that Dean would have more to say on the subject than any of her peers. Before Dean could answer however, she was speaking again, looking directly at Cas. "You might not know it to look at him," she gestured to Dean, "but he's a huge English junkie. And not just the 'I like books' type."

"So I've gathered," Cas replied, voice straight. "He gave our incompetent English class a lesson on Dover Beach this morning."

"Really?" Jo sounded surprised, Cas glancing over at Dean to see how the back of his neck had reddened. Maybe he wasn't supposed to have brought that up? "Dean? Participating in class? I'm impressed." She was smiling, quite as though this development in Dean were the juiciest piece of gossip she'd heard in a long while.

"Not my fault everyone there were idiots," Dean muttered.

"Come now, Dean," Charlie encouraged with a mischievous grin. "Give us a lesson on Cathedral then. Poor Sammy needs to know." Normally his friends wouldn't tease him about his literature affair, having long since grown accustomed to it, but he had the feeling that having Cas there was putting them all on their worst behavior. Which was why, as he turned, a look of sheer vile was painted down his face. Neither Jo nor Charlie were bothered by it however, the others quietly expectant – for more than just analysis on _Cathedral_.

"Jo's right," Dean gave in, looking to Sam. "You should probably write about how the husband overcomes prejudice by interacting with the blind guy. They're not going to expect anything more from a middle schooler, even if you are in advanced placement."

Sam pursed his lips disapprovingly, but didn't comment. Jo, however, had raised her eyebrows, looking to Dean intently as he took a bite of his sandwich.

"Listen to you, Mr. High and Mighty Know-It-All." He glared at her. "C'mon, tell us, what's Cathedral really about? Let's educate poor middle school Sammy."

"You're being really irritating," Dean stated coldly.

"I could be much worse," she smiled sweetly, glancing only quickly to Cas.

Dean growled. "Cathedral is about overcoming masculine ideals that society has put on men, alright?" He had the feeling, based on Jo's smug little look, that she knew this perfectly well. She just wanted to hear him say it. "The husband doesn't know how to relate to other men because reasons," Dean said bitterly, slamming his sandwich down on the counter. "And the blind man is blind to these reasons, and so is able to make the husband get it with his picture drawing, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I don't know, Dean, _is_ that all I wanted to hear?" she asked snidely. Yes, even as Dean's embarrassed anger washed onto his face, she pushed the subject, all others in the room unsure where this was going or what she was trying to get him to say. Clearly _they_ both knew, Cas looking between them uncertainly.

Dean took a huffing breath. "It's about one man connecting with another. There's homosocial subtext. And homoerotic subtext. And they draw a phallic symbol together. That's what you wanted me to say, isn't it? That's what you were waiting for?" He'd pushed himself away from the counter, posture stiff as he and Jo locked in eye contact with one another.

"Dean, I wasn't waiting for anything, I just-"

"Yeah, okay, right." Shaking his head, he turned and headed back down the hall, Cas biting the inside of his cheek as he heard a door click closed. Jo was still beside him, mouth hanging open some. As if she was honestly surprised at Dean's reaction. Charlie was looking at her disapprovingly, Cas soon adopting the same expression.

"That was unnecessary," his deep voice eventually cut in, everyone flicking their eyes his way as he pushed his chair back and stood. Demeanor cold, he cast Jo one more lasting look, her lips clamping together as he did, before he trailed Dean's exit into the short hall. His retreat gathered a gusty silence among those left behind, some pondering what had just been said while others gaped on in confusion.

Charlie found her voice first. "Really?" she'd raised her eyebrows at Jo accusingly.

"I didn't…" her shoulders dropped, guilt overcoming her features. "I didn't think that was what they… I just…"

Charlie didn't look convinced.

"Wait, hold on," Sam looked between the two women, Benny coming to understand behind them as he stared wide-eyed into the hall where both Dean and Castiel had gone. "What's going on?" He sounded worried. Distressed that there was something wrong with his older brother that he needed to know about.

"Is Dean with Castiel Novak?" Benny asked straight as he rose from his spot on the edge of the couch, finally coming into the kitchen.

"With him?" Garth gaped, finally putting the pieces together. "Wait, Dean's gay?!" He said it rather loudly, Charlie smacking him upside the head for doing so. Because there was no doubt in her mind that he'd been heard in the other room.

"He's not gay," she reprimanded.

"No, he's bi," Sam said quite certainly, all eyes snapping his way. "What?" he didn't appear nearly so shocked about this revelation as the rest of them. "He's my brother. You think I wouldn't notice him checking out guys?" Sam had had his suspicions for a long time.

"You knew?" Charlie baulked.

"_You_ knew?" Jo turned the conversation on her. "How'd you find out?"

"He told me."

"He _told_ you?! And he didn't tell any of the rest of us?" Yes, Jo was a little hurt over the whole thing.

"_Hello_," Charlie pointed to herself. "Lesbian. If he was going to tell anyone, of course it'd be me."

"So, wait, hold on," Sam reigned them all back with his down to earth attitude. "Is Dean dating that Castiel guy then? Like, _actually_ dating him?" Something Dean Winchester simply didn't do.

"As far as I knew," Charlie hushed her voice some, "they were just sleeping together. Like, fuck-buddies." Sam furrowed his brows disapprovingly, but didn't say anything. He knew how his brother could be. "But, well, Castiel's here, so…"

"Would Dean really allow just a 'fuck-buddy' in his home?" Jo was skeptical. "No, there's got to be more to it than that, right?"

"Are they _boyfriends_?" Garth hissed into the conversation, gripping at the table. Because it was shocking enough that Dean was into men. Add the potential that he was actually serious about one and it was like a double whammy.

His question didn't have an answer however, not from anyone. Rather, silence stretched after it, the two in the back bedroom only able to register the voices as a low churn. Except for Garth's initial outburst, which had resulted in Dean flopping down on his bed and covering his head with his pillow. A low groan left his throat.

Cas watched from where he was standing before the door, quickly surveying the room before focusing on Dean. It was small, but that wasn't wholly unexpected. A closet beside the door, small and closed. Nothing lay about on the floor – clothes or otherwise. The bed took up a majority of the space, though that too was small. A full size perhaps. A sparse end table sat to the left of it, Dean's guitar on a stand in front. And on the right, lining the wall, was a set of three bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling – chocked full.

A single light bulb hung naked above their heads, the dark blinds pulled down over the window. Cheap, vertical paneling made up the walls, the carpet the same tan as the living room.

"Dean," Cas called his name, but was ignored in favor of the pillows. Pushing away from the door, he headed to the bed, sitting down on the edge before reaching out and laying a hand on Dean's back.

"This was not how this was supposed to happen," Dean mumbled into the bed, his voice muffled but decipherable. Cas didn't comment, knowing there was little he could say. Coming out was hard for everyone, and part of him kind of knew that Dean may have never intended to come out at all, at least not in his current mindset. "I can't believe they all know."

"It's alright," Cas finally found his words, still running his hand over Dean's t-shirt. "They're your friends. They'll understand." Of course, as he knew, that didn't make it any less mortifying. Still, the sooner Dean faced it, the easier it'd be. "Mine did." It occurred to him in that moment that, as of then, five more people knew he was gay. Initially, only Anna, Gabriel, and Balthazar had known. Then Dean. And now all Dean's friends and his brother.

He tried not to think about it.

"That's not the point…"

"There is no point," Cas leaned over, pulling up on the edge of the pillow Dean had over his head until he spotted those green eyes staring back at him. "It is what it is. You are who you are. You're Dean Winchester," he laid his head on the mattress, still staring under the pillow. "Being bisexual doesn't change that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean sighed, finally sitting up. "We've been over this."

"Then face it," Cas encouraged, leaning forward and placing his lips gently against Dean's. The kiss was short, meant for moral support, and Cas was pulling away as quickly as he'd leaned in. "You'll feel better if you do. This is the hardest part." He was running his hand up and down Dean's arm.

"Will you go with me?" Dean asked almost meekly, his eyes searching Cas's own.

He got a silent nod in response.

Taking a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes only shortly in order to gather his courage. He wasn't the type to dawdle however, the both of them getting to their feet as Dean forced himself to the door. He told himself over and over again that Cas was right, that none of them would think anything of it. Yet still it was difficult. Like the anticipation of ripping a bandage from hairy skin. It'd be more painful for him than anyone else, more embarrassing, but he knew, despite his doubts, that his friends – his family – would be only supportive.

He just had to _do it_.

Walking out held all the awkwardness of going into a room and knowing that every single person there had just been talking about him. They were crowded around the dining table, all attention flicking up to him as he entered the kitchen again. Cas stayed behind, waiting in the shadows. Having him there – knowing that he'd once done the same thing – kept Dean grounded. If only because he didn't want to look like a coward.

"Dean…" Jo rose quickly to her feet, those barring her way stepping quickly aside. She appeared utterly apologetic, her hands fidgeting together behind her back. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that- I mean, I considered. I just… didn't believe…"

"It's alright," Dean grumbled, peering to the side as redness flushed his cheeks. The back of his neck too, or so Cas noticed. But Dean was the type that blushed everywhere.

"How long have you been into dudes?" Garth blurted carelessly, Charlie sighing in annoyance.

"I don't know," Dean snapped, looking directly at him. "Maybe my whole life?" Sarcasm, yes. It was a good defense.

"It's not something that just comes and goes," Charlie interjected flatly. "He's born that way, just like I'm born that way, just like Castiel was born that way." Seemed like it'd be obvious to her.

"I know that!" Garth replied heatedly. "I'm not stupid. I just meant," back to Dean, "how long have you _known_ you've been into dudes?"

"Why does that matter?" Charlie sounded almost challenging.

"I'm just curious!"

"It doesn't matter," Dean established forcefully. "Can we move on please?"

"Okay, fine," Garth narrowed his eyes resolutely. "Which one of you is the top and which one of you is the bottom?"

"Oh my God, Garth!" Jo reached out and smacked him atop the head at the same time Charlie leaned over and did the same. He flinched away from both attacks, Dean pinching the bridge of his nose. That was a question he wasn't ready to answer, nor would he have even if he were.

"I'm just _curious_!" Garth cried out, as if that were a viable defense.

"Hey, I'm proud of you, Brother," Benny had approached quietly, reaching out and laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You do you, and don't let anyone get to you otherwise."

"Thanks," Dean clapped him on the arm, the gestures all very masculine. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I don't understand," Sam was frowning, still seated at the table as Dean looked to him. "You told Charlie, but you didn't tell me?" He was clearly upset. "I mean, I kind of already knew, but still…" They were brothers after all.

Ignoring the "already knew" comment, Dean sighed, supposing he could get it. Him and Sam had been close all their lives. Been through thick and thin together. He should have told Sam first, really.

"You're right," he agreed. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I wasn't expecting to… come out like this." He didn't go into detail about why he'd told Charlie first, how he'd panicked after sleeping with Cas the first time. That was his business, the fact that Charlie knew hardly a variable.

"It's okay," Sam pooched his lips shortly, Cas reminded momentarily of the moments when Dean did the same thing. "Just so long as you're okay."

"I'm good." He smiled.

And he really thought he meant it.

"Well, with that out of the way," Charlie clapped her hands together, wanting to move on more for Dean's sake than anything, "I'm hungry, and it doesn't look like Dean here was going to make a sandwich for all of us." Because he'd walked over to retrieve the one he'd made previously.

"I didn't know it was my responsibility to feed all of you."

"You need to feed me," Cas said quite seriously as he finally left the hallway, ignoring the stares he got as he headed across the kitchen and into the living room. Mostly he just wanted to be out of the spotlight, this quite clear by the way he sat down on the couch out of the way.

"Got a high maintenance rich boy on your hands with that one," Garth joked, Cas pursing his lips, but making no comment. Dean glared, but didn't object either, mostly because he didn't know what to say. He wanted to say that Cas being there didn't mean anything, that his presence was the result of circumstance. But that wasn't true, not totally. Liking Cas had something to do with it, with how he'd reacted previously. Because he cared about him. The question, however, about what they were then was still poised. Because he didn't know how Cas felt about him. And even if he did know, that didn't mean anything either. They were friends, maybe, and that was all. Discussion on anything further had yet to happen, Dean still grappling with the fact that maybe such a conversation needed to happen at all.

Maybe it didn't. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

Or maybe he just didn't want to deal with it.

In any case, it made comments such as Garth's hard to respond to. Because was Cas really "on his hands?" No, he wasn't. And that fact wasn't okay to discuss openly. Especially with Sammy around. The relationship between the two of them was mature first, at least at that point.

"I'll order a pizza I guess," Dean decided, the rest of his friends more than willing to try and move on, loud discussion beginning on how many pizzas, what toppings, and whether breadsticks were necessary. Cas stayed out of it, wanting to avoid any further questioning that would be difficult to answer. Unfortunately, certain others had different ideas.

Standing, Sam forgot his essay momentarily, instead making his way into the living room before sitting down on the couch beside Cas. He leaned back into the cushions lazily, Sam's pointed, narrow-eyed look set on Cas once again. He waited without saying a word however, more anxious that Sam was obviously evaluating him than he let on.

"So…" Sam finally started, "you and my brother are dating?"

Exactly the kinds of questions Cas was hoping to avoid.

"You could… say that."

"Or are you two just having sex," Sam said boldly, Cas's jaw tightening. "I know how Dean is, so it's not like I'd be surprised if you were." Casual blinking. "Charlie said that you guys were fuck-buddies."

"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean was leaning over the back of the couch, probably having quite clearly heard what he'd said based on the way everyone else in the trailer was snickering.

"I'm asking what, exactly, Castiel's intentions are with you," he replied honestly.

"That's none of your business." Reaching down, Dean pinched Sam around the ear, pulling momentarily as Sam struggled and howled in response.

"Let go!" he shoved Dean back. "Friggen' jerk!"

"Little bitch." Dean smirked, reaching down again and patting his brother affectionately on the cheek, which got him shoved away again, Sam rubbing away the pain in his ear. Cas raised a knowing eyebrow at the boy, as if to tell him he should have known better, and Sam glared in response.

"Alright, pizza is on the way, television is workin,'" Garth had clicked it on before flopping down gracelessly into one of the other chairs. "Dean paid the Netflix bill. Sweet. Breaking Bad it is."

"Maybe some of us don't want to watch Breaking Bad all night long. Again." Charlie stated as she came in as well, making herself quite comfortable on the floor in front of Cas's couch.

"Well what do you want to watch?" Garth sighed.

"Something new."

"I heard that show Supernatural is pretty good." He was scrolling through the list.

"Oh, let's not on that one," Benny appeared moderately uncomfortable, sitting himself down on the other couch as Jo came in with him. "I hear that one's kind of scary."

"I _like_ scary shows," Garth whined.

"Ugh, we can't watch Supernatural," Charlie flopped back against the couch in a rather frustrated manner. "You know what I've heard about that show? Weak female characters that get killed off or only used as sex objects, emotionally constipated white, male leads, and a strict 'no homo' rule despite the fact that there's a dude angel totally in love with one of the protagonists. Queerbaiting, that's all it is."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it for hating it so much," Jo joked with a laugh.

"I'm on tumblr; you can't escape it there."

"Oh, Scandal," Jo pointed to the television. "I hear that one's good."

"Let's watch The Interview," Dean interjected as he crossed in front of Cas's couch. "Get up, Sam, I'm sitting there."

"What? I was here first!"

"The Interview isn't as good as all the hype leads you to believe." Charlie again.

"Such a critic." Garth.

"I don't care if you were there first, get out of the way," Dean was reaching for his ear again, Cas watching the two as Charlie scooted up against his leg – in order to get out of the way.

"You just want to sit next to your boyfriend."

Dean glared. "That's not- he's- Alright, fine!" He's grabbed his little brother by the arm and yanked him out of the chair, Sam smiling despite how roughly he was being handled. "Yes, I wanna sit next to Cas. Now get outta the way." Finally Sam stumbled off the couch, swerving out of Dean's way as his older brother dropped himself heavily into the cushions.

"Look, so domestic already," Charlie was teasing, Dean going to smack her, but she ducked to the other side of Cas's legs before he could. And Cas, who wasn't sure what to make of any of them, did nothing. Their words, how Dean reacted to them, the things he said, he knew he couldn't trust any of it. But it was hard. Because they were all being so nice, and Dean had let him inside his home. And it was all very confusing.

"We're not domestic," Dean muttered. "I just want to keep all you creeps away from him. You'll give him weird ideas."

"Oh, 'weird ideas,'" Charlie made air quotes. "That's what the kids are calling it these days. Those kinds of relationships with feelings and dates and things other than sex. God forbid either of you consider such 'ideas.'"

"Shove it, Charlie," Dean went to reach for her again, his hand landing heavily on Cas's thigh as he reached over him.

"Do you mind?" Cas snapped, more sensitive to Dean's abrupt weight on his leg and the pain he was causing than anything else. "You're acting like a child."

"I'm sorry, does this make you uncomfortable?" He leaned up to look at Cas, hand still on his thigh as he squeezed a little tighter, one of those cocky smiles spreading across his face. Because Dean was being Dean, and even if he was uncomfortable with what had happened previously, it was easier to act normal than awkward.

"It makes _me_ uncomfortable…" Sam mumbled from where he was sitting on the floor in front of Jo.

"It hurts," Cas made perfectly – seriously – clear, pushing Dean back and forcing him to release his leg. "You're so immature sometimes."

"Oh, it's a lover's spat," Jo hissed down to Sam, who laughed.

"You like it," Dean was still smiling, grabbing the hand Cas had used to shove him away before leaning in closer to him again. Cas was not amused, his cocked eyebrow making that much rather clear, but Dean didn't seem to care.

"I like plenty of things, as you very well know," he said coldly. "You being an idiot isn't one of them." Reaching up with the hand Dean wasn't retraining, he pushed him back by his cheek, his head forcefully turned away as Cas looked back to the television.

"You're gonna be hard up for a lasting relationship if that's the case," Jo coughed, as if that would actually cover up her insult.

"I never had any such intention."

"That hurts, Cas," Dean feigned, his hand going to his chest. "Really, your words cut me deep." It was strange, both Cas and Dean aware of it yet unable to communicate. Because Dean was hurt by Cas's words, really, even though he knew it was a joke. But on another level he also knew it wasn't a joke. Just as Cas knew Dean's attitude was as much a lie as it was potentially truth. It left them both in a state of jittery anticipation and throbbing pain, which they were trying their very best to ignore.

"My words?" Cas looked back over at him. "Would you like me to relay to everyone here what you said to me the second time we spoke?" Rather, he was referring to Dean's first proposition. Which had been met with little in the way of positive results.

"What'd he say to you the _first_ time you talked?" Charlie asked before Dean could reply, a devious grin etched into her features.

"Well, that," Cas looked to her, "was _very_ interesting."

"Hmm, yeah, glad we're talking about this," Dean's smile went bitter, knowing that both Cas and Charlie were wholly aware of what had happened the first time he and Cas had "talked," and that even though Charlie hadn't been there, she could probably very well imagine the things he'd "said."

"Okay, seriously, what are we gonna watch?" Garth gracelessly tried to pull the subject back around. Thankful for the interruption, Dean cast Cas a warning look, one quite heavy with gravity, which he then got in return, only with a little more sass in those blue eyes.

"We should watch Game of Thrones!" Sam suggested suddenly. "Dean isn't caught up yet. And he refuses to read the books." He said this to Cas, as if it should mean something to him.

"I thought you liked literature?" Cas.

"I do like literature," Dean verified. "Doesn't mean I like novels. Besides, why read the books when I can watch the show?" He was more of a poetry, short story kind of guy.

"I like Game of Thrones," Charlie placed her vote.

"Of course you do," Jo laughed. "It's full of half naked women most of the time." Charlie didn't object to this, only smiled.

Dean, who'd been in the midst of turning in the chair, soon had his head laid back on Cas's thigh, feet hanging over the arm on the other side. "I don't see how this is a problem," he agreed, Cas staring down at him before allowing his hand to find his hair. Long fingers twining through the locks, Dean closed his eyes, seemingly content with the light massage.

"Charlie and I downloaded them all," Sam continued his case. "We just have to hook my laptop up to the television." He was trying not to stare at his brother, at how comfortably pleased he looked with his head in Castiel's lap, or how Castiel's own expression had lost a majority of its severity. The others in the room watched as well, but either the two weren't noticing, or simply decided to ignore it.

Because they appeared quite caught up in their own world.

"Game of Thrones it is," Garth made the final decision, the only one of them not paying any attention to Dean and Cas. Rather, he was soon getting to his feet to retrieve Sam's laptop, then requiring assistance in hooking it up – which pulled attention from the duo on the couch. Yet still the friends looked between each other with knowingly skeptical looks, smiling occasionally, but not certain as to why. Well, they knew _why_, but perhaps the question lay more in the "how" of the whole thing.

The pizza arrived shortly after the first episode had started, jarring them all from their seats once again. Dean paid, got his share, ate, and had his head in Cas's lap again halfway into the second episode. And so it stayed for the remainder of the afternoon and into he evening, always returning no matter his reasons for getting up otherwise. And Cas never had any qualms with the arrangement, fingers either sifting through Dean's short hair, or hands lying atop his chest. There was a point even, soon after the sun had set and the room was in total darkness aside the glow from the television, that the tips of Cas's nails began to slowly brush down Dean's cheek. Softly, he outlined his chin in the dark, his nose, the lines of his brow. All with his eyes trained on the television.

Unconsciously perhaps, or thinking of it only vaguely in the back of his mind. Dean didn't complain. Rather, he stared up at Cas's chin for a few moments before letting those careful fingers lull him into a doze. And then to sleep, the sound of the television hardly capable of keeping him awake when the evenness of Cas's breathing, the warmth of his body, was like curling up beside a heat register.

It wasn't until his legs began to cramp that Cas finally found himself unable to stay still. Glancing down to Dean, he was moderately amused at the way his mouth hung slightly open, nose brushing back into Cas's sweater.

The others were still intent on the show, their faces glowing as the frames flashed across the room. Watching Dean sleep, however, put similar thoughts in Cas's head, and so he decided that maybe it was time to retire. Reaching up under the man sleeping atop him, he let one of his hands cradle Dean around the shoulders while the other stretched for a secure position beneath his knees. Gathering Dean in his arms, he tried to be as gentle as possible in standing, the attention of everyone else in the room falling to him as he disturbed the darkness.

Sure Dean was a relatively big guy, but so was Cas, really, and he had no problems carrying him. Not across the trailer anyway. He thought maybe Dean was going to wake up, his head pulling back as Cas stepped around the couch, but then he was laying it back against Cas's chest just as promptly, lashes still brushing his cheeks as they headed through the kitchen and into the back bedroom.

"That… is not something I thought I'd ever see," Garth muttered over the television. The image of Dean draped bridal-style across another man's arms, limp and vulnerable. The complete opposite of the persona he tried to throw out on a regular basis. It was somewhat strange, but, at the same time, not bad. Because Dean was so very rarely at such ease with anyone.

"Yeah, I get the impression 'fuck-buddies' isn't entirely accurate," Jo deduced.

"I like him," Sam nodded, still staring into the darkness where Cas had carried off his older brother. "I like him a lot."

Neither Cas nor Dean heard their discussion however, Cas pushing the door to Dean's bedroom closed with his foot before walking over and setting his load gingerly down on the sheets. Dean stirred some, legs stretching out, but still didn't wake, and so Cas merely stared down at him for a moment. Though it was dark, he could still see the graceful curves to Dean's profile, the rounded softness to every part of his body – a great contrast to Cas's general sharpness. Even dead asleep, he was this welcoming ray of light, beckoning to Cas in the darkness. And every day Cas grew weaker – the idea of saying no, of turning away, an impulse that pulsated less and less all the time. Until, staring down at Dean, Cas could hardly feel it at all.

He was sinking, drowning, and Dean was the breath of air that waited on the ocean floor.

Shaking his head, Cas reached down and pulled his sweater away. Walking around to the other side of the bed, he then unbuttoned his undershirt, shrugged it down to the floor, and slipped off his slacks. In only his briefs, he sat down on the edge of the bed, glancing over his shoulder at Dean again.

"Hey," Dean's voice growled out, his eyes still closed.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

"I 'em asleep," he replied groggily. "You gotta be the little spoon."

"The little spoon? Why do I have to be the little spoon?"

"Cuz I'm taller," was Dean's sleepy reasoning, his hand reaching out as if to grasp for Cas, fingers only managing to brush across his lower back.

"By two inches, maybe." Yet, despite his objections, Cas pulled himself more fully onto the bed, lying down beside Dean before turning away. "If we consider this more logically," he continued as Dean's arms reached out around him, tugging him across the sheets until he was flush up against the other man, "my _position_ would imply that I should be the bigger spoon."

"Cas," Dean's breath rushed over the back of his neck, their legs outlining one another as fingers linked. "Shut up and go to sleep."

Maybe they didn't understand what they were doing, or what they were feeling. And maybe both were doing far too good a job at ignoring it. But, in that moment, it was okay.

They didn't need to know.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hey guys! Don't forget to **Review! Reviews** inspire the author! And help them get better!

Also, looking for a **Beta reader**. Not in a strict sense, just someone to read the chapters before they go out and highlight spelling mistakes, skipped words, easy stuff. Nothing intense.

Anyway, fluffy chapter, no sex! My, my, my. Dean and his poetry, and his smartness and Dean, Dean, Dean. And then Cas's parents! Ugh! Those bitches. Poor Cas-Cas. Also, italics are from the son Run by Jasmine Thompson. Man, I liked the ending though. Cuddles and Dean feeling comfortable and Cas having a place to go. And Dean admitting he likes Cas, kind of. We'll see what comes of it. Fluff! Fluff! Fluff! And _emotions_! So much _**feelz**_!


	6. Take Me or Leave Me

**Dust in the Wind**

"_Someday love will find you__  
><em>_Break those chains that bind you__  
><em>_One night will remind you__  
><em>_How we touched__  
><em>_And went our separate ways"_

_**Separate Ways – Journey**_

**Chapter 6: Take Me or Leave Me**

"Uh, what about Castiel? Isn't he coming too?" Sam asked as he hooked his bag over his shoulder. Morning sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, half a poptart hanging from Dean's mouth as he searched around for his car keys. Jo and Charlie waited by the door, Benny and Garth having already headed out.

"He's skipping today," Dean explained through his breakfast, finally locating his keys sitting beside the sink.

"Does _he_ know that?" Charlie asked, grinning – a look Dean returned without giving a response. Instead, ushering them out the door, he locked his trailer up behind him before heading to the Impala. Benny was already backing his beat-up station wagon out of the drive, Dean following soon after. He wasn't in the mood for dawdling however, and so dropped Sam off before doing the same for Charlie and Jo. Not even shifting into park, he headed out of the school lot as quickly as he'd come, detouring to a local drugstore to pick up a few things before heading back home again.

Walking back up into his trailer, he shucked off his shoes, dropped his coat over the back of the couch, and headed to the bedroom.

Cas was still there, lying on his side wrapped half-hazardly in the blankets. His arms were draped around a pillow, his expression placid. Placing his grocery bag from the drugstore on one of the bookshelves, Dean stripped off his shirt and removed his jeans, commando underneath as he slipped onto the bed.

Pulling himself over Cas, he leaned his lips down upon his bare shoulder, kissing him softly as his legs and arms balanced on either side of the sleeping figure.

"Cas," he whispered, lips trailing from that shoulder up his neck. "Wake up." He thought maybe Cas stirred a little, especially when his breath splashed across his ear, but it wasn't enough to wake him. Dragging kisses up to his cheek, he littered them all over Cas's face, murmuring his name in-between with the hopes that he'd be heard.

It wasn't until he noticed the small grin pulling at those full lips that he realized his efforts had long since had their desired effect.

"You shouldn't tease me," he lectured, his own smile appearing as he nipped playfully at Cas's ear. "Two can play at that game."

"I'm trying to sleep," Cas muttered, eyes still closed despite the contradiction of the fact.

"Well don't," Dean's lips were delving at his neck again. "It's almost nine."

"Nine?" This did draw Cas's attention, his upper body turning so he was looking directly up at Dean. "It's Tuesday. We should be in school. Why didn't you wake me up?" He sounded only moderately accusing, a frown replacing his grin.

"Why?" Dean has leaned up, all teeth showing inside his smile. "Because we're skipping today." Dropping back down, he started laying kisses along Cas's collarbone, those artistic hands coming up to sift through his hair.

"Are we? Well, I had no idea." Was he actually irritated?

"We didn't get to have any fun yesterday," Dean dragged his nose up to Cas's, their eyes blinking at one another. "And everyone is gone now. Thin walls and all." Always with the smile. "I work every day, so this seemed like the only logical option."

"Right," Cas's grin returned, pulling up just one corner of his mouth. "It's only logical."

"Don't act like you don't want to spend the morning rolling around in the sheets with me." Back to kissing, this time down along his jaw.

"The morning, perhaps," Cas gave in. "I do have a test third period though, so any 'rolling around' will have to be done by then."

"We'll see," Dean mumbled, Cas's legs unfolding and enclosing him within. Allowing his bare hips to slide against Cas's briefs, Dean pushed them chest to chest, his fingers slipping along Cas's muscular sides as his head was pulled gently up until they were lip to lip. Until he was drowned in the sensation of his mouth with Cas's, the two of them sucking at one another – gently at first, but then gradually with more power. More passion. Until their tongues were fighting for dominance, running along each other's teeth and pushing back and forth. Cas's hands had fallen to Dean's shoulders, holding him as he bit lightly. And Dean bit back, drawn in, as he always was, by Cas's arced touch – that upper lip that was practically begging to be bitten.

They kissed till they were swollen, till their mouths ached. And Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd made out with someone so fervently. Just kissing, something so simple, but he couldn't stop. He was addicted to the sound of his lips smacking softly with Cas's, with their breath interwoven and the idea that in those moments, they breathed the same air. He wanted that closeness, that intimacy, and wasn't set on putting a stop to it until his lips were just too tired to keep going.

Or Cas's, as it were.

And then, as they pulled away for only a quick breath, a whisper.

"Dean," deep voice grinding against the softness, their lips almost touching as Cas continued, "I _like_ you."

Mouth on mouth again, Dean's eyebrows furrowing with the sheer pressure of it all as those words wisped into his ears. He knew they were simple, but also that they meant something, and he felt his heart do an uncomfortable jolt in his chest, stomach bursting with wings. He kissed him harder, wanted more – demanded it.

Because he liked him too, even if it was too hard to say.

The sound of the screen door slamming closed on the other side of the trailer popped their bubble quick enough however.

"What the hell?" Dean's head whipped over his shoulder as he looked back in alarm. Ever alert, he was quickly pushing himself off Cas, nerves jumping again when the front door clicked closed.

"Dean?" Cas sat up, watching and knowing exactly what was running through the other man's head. Yanking on his sweats from the night before, Dean then pulled open the bottom drawer to his end table.

He pulled out a handgun, Cas's eyes widening at the sight of it.

"Dean…" He was worried, and rightfully so, or at least that was what Dean thought.

"Stay there," Dean hissed, pointing to the bed. Cas didn't want to stay – because whatever it was that Dean was going to face could be dangerous, and he wasn't going to let him do it alone. But, surging with adrenaline, Dean was out the bedroom door before Cas could even gather himself, panic setting in as he pushed himself to the end of the bed.

What he heard next caused him pause.

"Dad?" Dean's dumbfounded voice echoed around the whole trailer, Cas slowing his movements before coming to a stop just before the door. Not wanting to be seen – since the bedroom was open – he stood to the side, unsure whether he should listen, but supposing he really had no choice.

"Dean," an older voice replied. "Put down the gun. I'm not here to rob you."

"What are you doing here?" Cas had never heard Dean sound so surprised. In the empty, unable to think about the situation kind of way. "You didn't call. You always call first."

"Yeah, I know," the other man replied gruffly. "I wasn't meaning to catch you. Just passing through. Figured you'd be at school, but then I saw the Impala sittin' out front." Cas furrowed his brows, uncertain what to make of such a statement.

"What do you mean you were passing through?" Dean sounded completely and totally civil despite his questions. Like a child with nothing in the way of true suspicion for the ones raising them. "If you are, then why wouldn't you tell us?"

"Dean, I'm on another lead, I don't have time to sit and chitchat with you and Sam. I was just coming by to pick up a few things and then I was gonna be on my way." Cas wasn't sure why, but there was something about this foreign voice that he didn't like. Perhaps it was how he was dodging the subject, or how totally innocent Dean sounded when talking to him. No matter, it rubbed him the wrong way.

"Oh…" Cas thought he registered disappointment in Dean's voice. "Well, what do you need? Whatever it is, food, gas, I'll get it."

There was a pause here, Cas pursing his lips.

"It's the truck," the older man finally admitted. "Tranny's goin' out in it. Got to replace it."

"Well we can just take it down to Bobby's and-"

"I don't have time for that. I'll deal with it." This really flipped a switch in Cas's head. Transmissions weren't something someone could deal with on their own, or at least he assumed. And why not take it to Bobby's Shop? Certainly that would be more time efficient. No, this logic wasn't adding up.

"I just need the money for the new transmission. That's it."

Now Cas understood.

"The money?" Dean clearly didn't, however. "If we just take it to Bobby's, he'll fix it for fr-"

"Dean, I really don't have time to argue the point." What point? Cas wasn't seeing a point. This didn't make any sense. "I need the money. And if you don't have that, then I need the car."

"The _car_?" Dean baulked. "What? And leave me with the truck till it's fixed?"

"To sell," was the reasoning handed back. "I need the money."

"S-sell? You can't sell my car. I need it!" And he'd bought it himself, but that hardly seemed like it'd be worth bringing up. "That's _my_ car! Me and Sammy have _lived_ in that car! You can't sell my car!" He sounded panicked.

"Dammit Dean, then I need the money! This is an important lead. I can't afford to lose it!"

"H-how much?" Dean fumbled out.

"Two-thousand."

"Two-thousand?!"

Cas closed his eyes, his head leaning against the wall. It was almost painful, listening to this.

"Two-thousand dollars? I can't afford to-"

"Do you have the money or not, Dean? It's either that or the car. I don't have time to dicker with you about it."

"I can't just give you two-thousand dollars!" Finally, Dean seemed to be standing up for himself. Yet still his voice was that higher pitch. "I need that money. To- to pay rent! And buy food! Two-_thousand_?!"

"What's wrong with you, boy?" his father snapped, even Cas flinching at the severity of his voice. "This is about your mother! You honestly telling me that you can't spare a few thousand for that?"

"No, Sir, I ju-"

"Then why are you standing here arguing with me?!"

"Because that's almost all my savings! And next month's rent! I'm already on food stamps! And Sam has a dentist appointment next week! I-"

"The car then!"

"That's _my car_!"

"Dean! Your mother is dead! I'm trying to hunt down the people who did it! Are you honestly going to tell me that being on time for your rent is more important?!"

"No, Sir, I-"

"Then get me the money, Dean! Now!"

Silence.

Cas bit the inside of his cheek, his heart racing. This didn't make sense. This man wasn't telling the truth. How would he have gotten the money if Dean hadn't been there? He certainly wouldn't have been able to get the car. So what would he have done? He'd intended not to see them?

"_I'm not here to rob you._"

That was exactly what he was there to do. And even though his son was home, he was going to do it anyway.

"I'll… I'll get the money." And Dean was going to let him.

Cas could hear Dean's footfalls coming back to the bedroom. He appeared a moment later, eyes flicking in Cas's direction only quickly before he pulled them away again. That was all Cas had needed however. In order to see the shame, and embarrassment. Pain even.

He went to his bookshelf, the gun set down on the end table before he pulled out three heavy looking volumes and set them down on the mattress too. Behind them, he had a small jar, which was topped with rolls of cash. Gaping, Cas watched as he unscrewed the lid and emptied the contents onto the bed. He must have had it rolled into certain amounts, because he didn't count it all out. No, he only counted the rolls. Piled them until all but two rolls were left alone. He then took the larger amount, pulled the rubber bands away, and slid them together. A heavy stack of bills, one he smoothed as his jaws clenched tight. He gulped, breath shaky, and finally turned back to the door.

Cas wanted to say something, but knew that doing so would only hurt Dean more. So he stayed quiet, watching as the other man left again before allowing his attention to fall back to the bed.

Shoulders dropping, he walked over, sitting down on the edge of the mattress before taking the last two rolls. Pulling away the bands, he counted it. Counted the fives and tens until he got to one hundred and sixty.

Dean had one hundred and sixty dollars left.

"This should do it," Dean's father verified beyond the room, Cas wrapping Dean's money back up before dropping it into the empty jar. He screwed on the lid as well, standing and shoving it back into the bookshelf as he listened to the conversation outside the door. "Sam's doin' well in school?"

Moving onto another subject, as if he'd done no damage at all.

"Yeah, he's doing real good," Dean replied, voice quiet. Submissive. "Top of his class."

"Good. Always knew he had a good head on his shoulders." Pause. "Why aren't you in school?"

"I'm… skipping… this morning."

There was a "hmphing" sound, as if this "father" didn't expect anything better.

"Just so long as Sam keeps goin.' You got the job at Bobby's, but Sam needs to go to college. His mom would have wanted him to go."

"I know."

"You graduating this year? Start workin' full time at Bobby's?"

"Yeah, that's what I figured I'd do."

Cas had to stop himself from throwing the books across the room as he stacked them back in the shelf.

"I might need to start dropping by more often," he explained. "Think I'm onto something, but it'll take a little more. Don't tell Sam though. He doesn't need to be worrying about it. He's too smart to be dealing with this kind of thing."

"Yes, Sir."

"You been actin' responsible?" Cas didn't understand what that meant. "Last thing I want to see next time I come around is that you knocked up some girl." Because that'd be a drain on his finances. "No messin' around, Dean."

"I'm not… messing around."

Another momentary silence.

"Alright," Dean's father finally seemed to be finishing up. "I've got to go. Don't tell your brother I was here." It sounded like he was walking back toward the door. "And Dean? Watch where you're pointing that gun. I don't trust you to aim a weapon like that properly. It's too much for you."

"… Yes, Sir…"

Cas heard the door opening and closing again a few seconds later.

Waiting, it took Dean a moment to make his way back into the bedroom. When he finally did walk through the door however, Cas didn't know what to say. Because he looked so abruptly worn down. Like his father had stomped him into the ground with the heel of his boot – as if without looking down. Blind to the mutilation.

"That was… that was John," Dean gestured back weakly, his eyes not coming up to actually look at Cas. "My dad. He's, uh, he's got a lot goin' on, so…"

"Dean," Cas shook his head. "You don't need to excuse him. Why'd you give him the money?"

"I had to," Dean flicked his gaze up finally, Cas surprised at the heat burning there. "You don't understand."

"That money was your livelihood," Cas had easily put the pieces together. "And he was obviously lying about what he needed it for."

"You don't know him."

"That doesn't matter. Dean, if he'd come here and you hadn't been home, he'd have stolen that from you, wouldn't he?"

"It's not that simple."

"Why'd you give it to him?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, alright?!" Dean snapped, his voice rising to a degree that caused Cas to blink back in surprise. "He's my dad! What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to tell him 'no!'"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"He's trying to find the people that murdered my mom, okay?!" Dean gestured sharply to the side. "He's been hunting them for years, it's what he's dedicated his life to! I have to help him if I can. It's the only thing I can do!"

Cas wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to such reasoning. "How long have you been on your own?" He recalled the comment about the car, about him and Sam living in it. He knew the car meant a lot to Dean – everyone in school knew that – but the idea was beginning to take on a whole new meaning. "Taking care of Sam, how long have you been doing that?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean pushed the subject away, waving Cas off flippantly.

"It does! Your father… he abandoned you, didn't he?"

"No!"

"And you just handed him two-thousand dollars!"

"He didn't abandon us! You don't have any fuckin' clue, so shut up about it!" Cas narrowed his eyes dangerously. "He does his best! Sam's my responsibility! He has to avenge Mom. That's the most important thing!"

"W-what?" Cas couldn't believe he was hearing this. "No, Dean, it's not! You and Sam should have been the most important thing. And he just stole the food off your plates! What the hell, Dean?!"

"You don't get it," Dean shook his head, denial written all over his face. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You're the one who raised Sam, aren't you?" Cas gulped, his throat dry at the implication. "He left and you took care of your little brother."

"He's my responsibility."

"No, he's not," Cas's voice was firm. "He's your father's responsibility, one he dropped and you picked up."

"Cas, I'm serious, shut up."

"How many of his messes have you had to clean up?"

"Shut up, Cas…"

"How much money has he stolen from you?"

"_Cas_…"

"You're defending him, but… he's no better than my father."

"My father is _nothing_ like your father!" Dean was pointing at him harshly, shouting. "Don't you dare say that! Your father is a womanizing asshole! Our father cares! He's doing his best! They're _not_ the same! Our mom dying broke him! It's not his fault, so don't you even _suggest_ that they're the same!" Cas was glaring. "My father _wanted_ us! We were happy once! Don't you say they're the same," his lips were trembling slightly.

"They are."

"It's not _my_ father's fault, Cas, that nobody loves you."

Silence.

"That, Dean," Cas's voice was even deeper than usual, guarded, and dripping with malice, "doesn't have anything to do with it."

Of course, Dean knew that. He hadn't wanted to hear what Cas was saying and had lashed out. As soon as the words had left his lips, he'd regretted them. He knew the hurt they'd cause, and he'd wanted to cause it – if only for a moment. Because he'd wanted someone to hurt as badly as he did. But Cas already was – the ache was there – and Dean pointing it out was like further ripping a wound that had already made its cut.

He shouldn't have said it.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he gulped, trying to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have." Because Dean knew. He was the only person in the world that knew, that had that kind of ammo, and he'd just blasted it in Cas's face. Turned the gun he'd had pointed on himself and fired it at the only other target in the room. If only so he wouldn't have to feel the way the bullet pierced his own skin. "That was really shitty."

He was blinking, rapidly, and Dean felt his heart plummet in his chest at the sight.

"I know, I'm sorry," he tried. "I'm really sorry, Cas. I didn't mean it." But he had. Because it was true, and no amount of taking it back could alter that fact. Cas's parents didn't care about him, not at all. They didn't even want him, and Dean had just said out loud the one thing Cas had probably spent his entire life trying to avoid.

He could see the way those blue eyes watered, how Cas swallowed back against it.

Dean felt even worse. Because he'd done it to him, and there was nothing he could do to change any of it.

Cas pushed through however. Dean watched him – watched as he closed his eyes and forcefully steadied his breathing. No tears fell, they were rejected, and soon he was a stone, the bags under his eyes seeming to hold all that he was refusing to let surface. Dean knew the look – he saw it in the mirror every day.

"I'll never say anything like that to you again," Dean continued to try. "I swear. You're my friend and I crossed the line. I don't want to hurt you. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, and I understand if you don't want anything to do with me anymore."

"I'm not angry," Cas said coldly, Dean unsure what to make of his tone. Maybe he wasn't angry, but as their eyes met, Dean could tell he was disappointed. Which was almost worse. No, it wasn't almost, it definitely _was_ worse. Dean could feel it in the way dread began to settle in on him. Because he'd only just recently realized that he liked Cas, and now he'd probably ruined it all.

"Cas, please," he took a step toward him, thankful when Cas didn't move away. Forcing himself to be brave, he closed the distance between them, hand landing on Cas's bare shoulder despite how those blue eyes had dropped to the floor. "Please don't hate me." He squeezed his shoulder some. "_I_ want you, Cas," he gulped. "_I_ need you."

Cas finally looked up again. "What are you going to do, Dean?" Straight, emotionless. "You don't have any money."

"I'll figure something out," he shrugged. "I have before."

Cas sighed.

Yes, he was upset by what Dean had said, and it'd taken him a moment to realize that this person, who he'd willingly trusted so easily as of late, had intentionally hurt him. But Cas was a logical person, and he realized that, perhaps, he wasn't totally innocent either. Dean wasn't perfect, he was human, and Cas had probably pushed him too far. He'd been angry, and still was. Not at Dean – though he did find his part rather frustrating – but at his father.

It was "John's" fault that Dean had lost himself. That he stood before Cas looking like a wounded animal, trampled and downtrodden. A completely different person than the vibrant light Cas had come to relate him to. But maybe that was life, and maybe they all needed a little help.

"Dean," reaching out, Cas drew his fingers gently along that well-formed jaw, closing the rest of the space between them as he pressed their lips together. He felt the shy spark in him reignite, recovering, perhaps, and forgiving. It took Dean a moment, but he eventually returned the kiss. It was weak however, ashamed, and Cas took it on himself to take care of Dean this time. He'd spent his whole life taking care of others, cleaning up after them like it was his responsibility to do so.

Well, this time Cas was going to put him back together. Not just leave him strewn about the floor, slowly dragging himself whole again.

Hands pulling forth, he drew them gradually down to Dean's hips, his lips trying to work them back into the moment – the one that had been so crudely interrupted previously. His fingers trailed forward, brushing just barely beneath Dean's sweats. Down, inside them. He took hold of what waited there, Dean's breath hitching some as he began to stroke. He towed Dean back to him, away from whatever haunts were punctuating his thoughts.

His lips set a path down Dean's chin, back along his jaw. Over his throat. His free hand pulled at the waistband of Dean's sweats, stretching them loose and dropping them. Dean's length was still held inside his palm, caressed firmly as he nipped his way down Dean's chest. As he lowered himself to his knees, lips dragging down over Dean's bellybutton before he was nosing his way below. He steadied himself on the floor, Dean's hands in his hair as he ran his tongue first along the top, over the tip, and then beneath. Dean sighed above him, fingers flexing against his scalp as Cas gripped at his hips.

As he took that erected need between his lips, sucking him in and back as far as he could.

Dean's groan echoed around the room, his hips reacting to Cas's pull by thrusting forward. Until Cas had all of him, his tongue dragging back as he slowly pulled away before drinking him in again. Dean moved against him, in and out, biting his lip. He stared down at the way Cas pleasured him, over and over, his pace increasing gradually. And then those blue eyes flicked up to him, staring back as Dean watched – that perfectly bowed lip resting so faultlessly around him. It was near enough to distract him entirely, to get him away from everything that had happened.

And then Cas was retreating – standing. Their lips met, Dean tasting his own saltiness there, wanting it, before Cas stepped back again. Like a tease, but with the heavy eyes of knowing invitation. It was a done deal, no matter how coy he played it.

He backed away from Dean, separating from him entirely. His touch left scalding marks behind, Dean watching as he sat back on the bed. As he pulled his hips upward, fingers in the band of his briefs as he shimmied them down his thighs. His own want revealed, he pushed his only article of clothing away with his toe before leaning back.

His eyes never left Dean's as he did. As he slid across the cotton sheets, flat out on the bed. His knees came up, his hips rolled back, and Dean felt his blood race downward at what he was being offered.

Reaching into the grocery bag on the bookshelf, he easily retrieved the bottle he'd bought at the drugstore, tossing it on the bed as he slid up onto the mattress himself. He crawled up between Cas's thighs, his hands running up his taut sides as his lips found Cas's once again.

"Dean," his name was barely breathed, the sheer sound of it sending a heated jolt through his whole system. And then Cas's hand was on his own, their fingers twining together as he led Dean down across his abdomen. Between his open legs, his other hand taking the bottle and pushing it into Dean's free one. "Take it, Dean," he murmured. "Take me."

How Dean wanted to.

Cracking open the bottle of lube, he coated both his and Cas's fingers before sliding the slickness down around Cas's entrance. He saw the way the man beneath him tensed in anticipation, Dean once again being guided by those artistic hands. Cas moved the tips of his finger, directing him as Dean's focus fell down to watch. Watch as, with confident knowledge of his own body, Cas pushed Dean's finger inside him, his breath hissing as Dean pressed his way in further, unknowing of the new territory, but determined to learn.

Cas slipped his own finger in as well, stretching, layering it up against Dean's and spurring him to look for that one spot. To curl his finger till he hit it, Cas's head falling back against the bed as he did.

"There," he gulped, his hand retreating and leaving Dean on his own as he gripped at the sheets. "There, Dean, yes!" Dean stroked him, pushing his way in further and beginning to work Cas loose, as he'd felt done to himself. He pushed against that sweet spot with every repetitive motion, his own elation rising at the way Cas's mouth fell open in pleasure – how his toes curled and stretched.

"Another," Cas directed, more than willing to be vocal about what he wanted. And so Dean doubled his efforts, beginning to grind his way into getting it. Into getting Cas and how he worked. What he wanted, what he liked. How rapidly he liked to be touched, or how hard. He moved up to three fingers on his own, Cas's deep voice moaning as he did. As he took the control he hadn't realized he'd needed. He wet his own arousal with his free hand, continuing to prep Cas until he was confident it was enough. Until he couldn't wait any longer.

Because he wanted to explore this new movement. He wanted to know Cas like Cas knew him, inside and out, everything.

He removed his fingers, his hands going to balance on the underside of Cas's thighs as he situated himself. As he pushed his length in through that tight entrance, his whole stomach surging with the sensation of having Cas around him, pulling him as he shoved himself slowly through. Cas moaned as he did, his arms stretching out against the sheets. Like wings that unfolded as Dean found him – as he was enclosed completely by that new grip.

Biting his bottom lip, Dean furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as he began to move against Cas. Back straight, he held tightly to those muscular thighs, savoring the plunge before pulling back and doing it again. He started slow, if only to selfishly savor it all. To indulge in the fact that he was setting their pace – he was feeling Cas out. Even as Cas whimpered, clearly wanting him to pick it up, he measured himself. Because, despite how he and Cas had been operating since starting their affair, he did know what he was doing. And he could make Cas beg too, if he wanted.

"Go faster, _faster_," Cas eventually gasped out.

Dean wasn't the type to be rushed however, one of his hands coming forward to hold Cas around his exposed length, as Cas had reached out to do the same. He prevented him from getting himself off, holding him as those long fingers wrapped tightly around his own. They flexed, wanting to take action, yet unable to.

But Dean's own desire was catching up with him, the carnal need inside him overcoming any sense of exploration as a rush of heat surged forth. His experienced hips rocked him into a faster momentum, their hands linked together around Cas's aroused desire matching the motion as he drove himself forward – as he shoved the other man into the mattress, Cas's free arm reaching back behind his head to hold the edge. To stop him from getting pounded back.

Eyes closing, Dean registered each heated wave that burst up through him, working in tandem with his thrusts. Cas was breathing heavily, his deep voice sounding labored and weighted as occasional groans escaped him. But Dean was finally in his own element, able to pace himself even as his driving became faster. Rougher, their skin slapping as he gripped at Cas's own desire, pulling him into letting go. Into release that sent his gravel voice higher in octaves, stretching against his vocal cords as he cried out.

Yet still Dean's hips kept moving, his hands coming up as he leaned forward. As he pulled himself over Cas, palms landing first on his shoulders before sliding over his chest. His thrusting lifted Cas's whole body before pulling him back down, the mattress creaking beneath them. And though he'd already reached climax once, Cas knew it wasn't over. Because Dean's aim was hitting true, reigniting the heat inside him with each well-served plunge. Hands coming up, he took Dean by the waist, fingers splaying over the edges of his back. The way Dean's spine bowed and contracted was a motion of sheer eroticism – like the waves of the ocean, always coming in only to retreat again.

And then their foreheads were leaning together, breath intermingling between their parted lips.

Cas was losing it – because Dean was hitting him each and every time – and he felt so full, and wanted, and needed, and Dean was so beautiful above him. He felt the swell flooding down over him again, this time with drowning force.

He cried out, cries that became screams of pleasure. And his name, escaping through it all.

"Dean! Ugh, _Dean_!" Their pace picked up again, Dean biting his own lip once more, holding Cas tight across his collarbone.

"Cas," he hissed, the words burning against his tongue. "Oh, fuck, Cas. Cas. _Cas_." He moaned his name over and over again, quieter than the screams that still rushed up through Cas's deep vocal range. The two of them were loud, and they were long, and they didn't care. The thinness of the trailer walls were of no consequence, that neighbors might hear little matter. They wanted each other, and they wanted the other to know how much they wanted it. Any sense of propriety had been abandoned long before.

They were rushed toward the end, Dean feeling the swell build all through his body before it dropped. Plummeting down through the clouds, they let go together, Cas's nails clawing at Dean's lower back. With only each other for support, they flew, their wings burning away even as they soared.

Even as they came plummeting back down to Earth.

Voice hoarse, Cas gasped, eyes closing as Dean finished inside him. As he felt that warmth flow through – a sense of fullness overtaking him that he very rarely had otherwise. Because, despite Dean's harsh words previously, he was also _there_. He was giving Cas attention where no one else did. It wasn't too much to ask, really, that he simply be desired and touched and wanted. No, it wasn't love, not in the certain, intimate sense, but it _was_ something – undefined as they were. Which, Cas knew very well, was better than absolutely nothing.

Hand's slipping into the sheets, Dean still allowed his forehead to rest heavily on Cas's, body echoing with the movements no longer pushed forward by his hips. Cas's legs had come down around him, their breathing loud and heavy through heaving lungs. He wanted to catch those wisps, as if they were the last remaining pieces of what they'd just shared together. He leaned down, lips pressing to Cas's even though he got no response. He left light, butterfly touches against the heated skin, savoring each tiny remnant until he'd kissed all around Cas's lips more than twice over.

Yet still he wanted him. It wasn't enough, none of it.

"Cas," he whispered, lips trailing that cheek despite how the target of his affections remained motionless. "Cas, I like you." The same words that had been spoken to him, blue eyes finally fluttering open again as they looked at each other. "I _adore_ you." Worshipped, needed, all of it in those moments. The way he'd screamed his name and moved with him, how his sweaty body was slick against his own. How those blue eyes stared into him, as if seeing everything that he couldn't. All that he was.

He'd been addicted to Cas since that first night they'd shared together, rough and blundering in that tiny bathroom. He knew he was infatuated, and he knew it was too much – beyond what he'd thought he'd wanted.

But he didn't care.

"Cas, baby," he murmured into his ear. "I'm _obsessed_ with you."

Totally and utterly possessed.

Head turning, Cas bumped their noses, their lips lightly brushing. More kissing, more touching, Dean's hands finding Cas's in the sheets as their fingers wove together. They chased each other through the exhaustion, tired yet not wanting to pull away. Nipping and grasping at the heat until they'd found the thread to lead them on. Joined together, they pushed their way into it all over again, wasting away the morning in a tangle of limbs and ecstasy.

Until their bodies trembled and they were too spent to move at all. Buried within the blankets, they lay motionless, attention flicking in and out, the only certainty either had being that the other was there.

Hands wrapped around Dean's back, Cas's thoughts eventually began to sneak their way in, slipping between the cracks of his distraction as the sun did through the blinds. He wasn't thinking entirely straight – his attention was still on Dean – but it was progress.

"If I say something now, promise me you won't get offended," he said a moment later, voice seeming to scrape against his throat. Dean's head lifted slowly from his shoulder, green eyes blinking beneath tousled hair. He nodded just vaguely, unable to yet find his voice, and leaned his chin down on his arms, which were folded over Cas's collarbone. "I'm not trying to step on your toes, but I'm just worried. About you." Cas's hand found those sandy locks, running through Dean's hair gently. "If you need it, I can… I can lend you some money. However much you need."

Dean looked quickly away, shame leaking in through his expression.

"It's not charity," Cas quickly continued. "It can be whatever you want. A loan, if that's permissible. Or theft, seeing as it's not really even my money in the first place." He'd be more than willing to steal right out from under his parent's noses. Take pleasure in it even. Not that they'd notice.

"Cas…" His voice was pained.

"No one would have to know," he assured. "It'd be between just us, I promise." His fingers massaged Dean's scalp. "Please, let me help you." He didn't want to think about Dean missing his rent, or having to push off Sam's expenses, or running out of food. Maybe it was humiliating, but it'd be even more so if he had to scrape and resort to other means.

"It'll be our secret," he continued, finding the idea rather ironic. "Just added to the list of all the others we have." He smiled, trying to be encouraging. Trying to convince Dean that it was okay. He could see the struggle in the way the other man frowned, in how he looked away. But he also saw the desperation painted behind, and maybe even a trickling of relief.

"You know," Dean's voice was gruff, "if it was anyone else, I'd say no." His whole chest was tight, the two looking into one another again. "But I…" He blinked, far less capable than Cas at controlling the way his eyes welled with tears. He wanted to swallow them back, but one escaped, as if to reveal everything he'd always tried so hard to keep covered.

"It's okay," Cas comforted softly, his hand caressing the side of Dean's face as he wiped away the tear's trail. "I want to help you." Because he didn't deserve this life, or the hours he had to work to support it. He didn't deserve to be the parent to his little brother, or to have had his own childhood ripped away. Lending him some money seemed like it'd be the least to be done.

And he was so relieved when Dean just barely nodded. Because he knew they shared a kind of connection that, though foggy, was unlike anything they had with anyone else. They were vulnerable with one another in ways they weren't with anyone, knew things about each other that no one else did. It was strange, really, because they hadn't known one another that long, but they were tied by the secrets they had. No, "secrets" wasn't the right word. By the experiences they'd shared. Like they'd both agreed to jump into the pit at the same time, falling without a rope deeper and deeper all the time. And though they were trapped, they were also together, naked and open if only inside the high walls of their personal prison.

"Thank you," Dean murmured brokenly, no longer trying so hard to fight the tears that would fall inevitably down his cheeks. Cas wiped them away when they did, expression never hinting a scorn.

And though the two words had been simple, Cas understood the gravity of them. He knew their importance, and that they referred to more than just the money.

They were everything.

**oOo**

"Where have you been?" he was asked as he sat down, the cafeteria bustling with students pushing through the lines for their lunches. Cas wasn't hungry – he and Dean had eaten before coming in for the second half of the school day. "You skipped swim practice yesterday," Cas faced Anna's furious expression, "and you wouldn't answer your phone."

"I apologize," he said, quite sincere about the whole thing. "I left my phone at home." Implying that he hadn't been there recently, which caused Anna's lips to purse. Gabriel was grinning, quite as though he knew something he couldn't, and Balthazar had actually set down his phone.

"I was worried," Anna practically scolded.

"What are you wearing?" Balthazar interjected, looking Cas up and down critically from where he sat beside him. "Those aren't your clothes."

"No, they're not," Cas replied, supposing there was little point in trying to object otherwise. They knew perfectly well that he didn't own a faded, gray, ACDC t-shirt, and that none of his jeans had holes in them. Yet there he sat wearing just that, Dean's pants rather baggy on him, but staying up well enough.

He hadn't had a change of clothes, and wearing the same thing two days in a row was something Dean had objected to him doing. Something about it being "gross and disgusting." Cas hadn't cared one way or the other, and did have a constant thrumming of satisfaction running through him at the idea of wearing Dean's clothes.

"You two," Gabriel shook his head, still smiling. "Gettin' pretty serious, huh."

"I wouldn't say that," even though what his cousin said was absolutely and totally true. Him and Dean were so serious it was mindboggling. Yet, in the same moment, that seriousness wasn't concrete. It was all very perplexing.

"So it is true then," Anna was tight-lipped. "You're involved with Dean Winchester." They'd all _known_ it was true, but been avoiding it. Or, rather, Cas had been. He saw little point in that anymore however. All Dean's friends knew, so why should he hide it from his own? He knew Anna would disapprove of how it had all started – the whole casual sex thing – but that was his business. Besides, him and Dean were more than that now, right? They hadn't actually talked about it, but it had to be true.

Cas couldn't imagine it wasn't true.

"I can't believe you," she sat back in her seat, disappointment apparent in her expression. "Dean Winchester? What are you thinking?"

"He's not as bad as you think," Cas defended, trying not to get too offended by her tone. He knew Dean had a history, but that didn't define him.

"He's exactly as bad as I think!" she hissed. "What's wrong with you? He's just using you! You should know better!"

"You don't even know him," Cas muttered, surprised at even his own annoyance level. He wasn't a child – he was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. And besides, Dean didn't deserve her ridicule.

"Neither do you!" she rebuked. "Castiel, he's a womanizer. Yes, he's a nice guy too, I get that," she laid her hands on the table, "but he's also never been interested in one girl," or boy, be that as it may, "for more than a few weeks, and even that's a rarity." She pursed her lips. "I can tell how much you like him. He's going to hurt you."

"No, he's not," Cas determined forcefully. "You don't know anything about it." She was really getting on his nerves.

"What has he been telling you?" she shook her head. "You're blind. Whatever feelings you have for him have completely derailed your logic. He's _Dean Winchester_!"

"I'm not blind, Anna," he said severely. "And I know perfectly well who he is. You're being judgmental and-"

"Judgmental?" she snapped. "I'm being- Fine, I'll show you judgmental." She stood, rounding the table quickly before grabbing Cas by the arm. She spurred him to his feet before beginning a mad march across the cafeteria. They filtered between tables, heading to the other side of the room. But Anna stopped short some three layers back from where Cas could see Charlie's bright red hair. She gestured with her eyes, her expression tight as her point reared its ugly head.

They'd come in together, him and Dean, and separated upon reaching the cafeteria – gone off in search of their respective cliques. Dean had found his apparently, the familiar faces from the night before spotted around the table as Garth made some kind of rude gesture. They were surrounded by others, as was per usual, and Dean had been given a seat at the center of the gathering.

His attention wasn't on the conversation however. He was smiling up at the batting lashes only inches from his own, red painted lips whispering in his ear. He had his arm sitting lazily around her waist, her position on his thigh far too high up not to be intimate.

And then Dean was laughing, those red lips trailing his ear as she whispered to him again. As she reached down and gripped tightly at his other thigh, Dean doing absolutely nothing to stop her.

Cas had never felt so doused with ice water in his life.

He couldn't watch it anymore, the flame of initial jealousy inside him quickly becoming an inferno. But he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't call Dean out on his shit, or make a scene. One, because that would push them both out of the closet, and two… because he didn't have the right to do any such thing.

Him and Dean were fuck-buddies, and so long as Dean wasn't messing around, they were good. Those were the terms. And not even Cas could convince himself that a girl sitting in his lap, flirting and feeling him up, counted as "messing around," not in the definition he'd initially utilized.

He was stuck, and it was horrible, and he wanted nothing more than to go hide. To pretend it hadn't happened. That he hadn't seen it.

Turning abruptly, he didn't say anything to Anna as he whisked himself back the way they'd come. He bee-lined it for the doors, pushing himself out into the empty hallway even as his sister called after him. He didn't want to talk to her however, or hear any "I told you so's" despite how concealed or well intended they might be. Instead, posture stiff, he turned down a side corridor, losing himself in the school momentarily before approaching a back exit. Pushing his way out into the sunlight, he turned to the side, finally coming to a stop as he leaned one hand up against the brick wall.

He tried to push it away, to reason it out and calm his nerves. But it wasn't working. Because he was hurt, and betrayed, and it didn't matter that him and Dean hadn't talked about it. He thought he'd known, that it'd been clear – that Dean wouldn't have gotten handsy with some random girl because what they were doing meant something.

It did mean something, right?

_Right_?

It was hard for him to believe, but had he really been overestimating everything that had happened to the point of being so skewed in his perceptions? They were sleeping together, sure, but they also weren't. They were kissing, and texting, and divulging secrets. They were getting to know each other, and there were… feelings. Insecurities that they wouldn't share with anyone else.

These things had happened. He knew they had. He wasn't crazy.

But if he was justified in his thought process, then what did that say about Dean? About his standards and expectations? Because if this was Dean's idea of fuck-buddies, Cas was pretty sure he wanted no part in it. He wasn't going to put himself in a position to be hurt. Anna had acted like it'd been inevitable, and he hadn't wanted to believe it. But maybe…

Maybe he _had_ been blind.

Dean was nice, and charming, and beautiful. And he was paying attention. But for how long? Until he got his fix? Would he really just leave as if it were nothing?

What kind of a person did that make him?

And then Cas was seeing red lips, and long nailed hands gripping thighs, and he was just so angry.

No, Dean was wrong this time. He wasn't going to put up with it. No way was he going to get dragged around like this as if he were a play toy. Had the roles been reversed, Cas would have turned away from that woman before she'd even sat down. Flirting was one thing, but letting a woman sit in his lap and whisper her lips against his ear was quite another.

It was bullshit.

Total and utter shit.

Lips pursed, Cas straightened, the clothes he'd borrowed feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Like he was wearing someone else's skin. He wanted them off, but he didn't have anything to change into. _His_ clothes had been left at Dean's trailer, under the assumption that he'd get them back at a later date. Because Dean had volunteered to wash them before then throwing them in his hamper.

But then he'd held that woman up on his leg and now _Cas_ felt like the clothes in the hamper.

Dean was a player; he knew this. He knew.

Yet there he was, even as Anna had tried to warn him.

Well, fuck Dean Winchester. He didn't need him. He didn't need anyone.

Pushing back on the ache that tore at his chest – that threw out images of bed sheets and confessions and misleading words – he turned and went back into the school. Stiff-backed and resolute, he avoided the eyes of the other students converging back and forth, lunch having ended. His locker was his destination, where he was intent to get out his books and go to class. He'd take his test and he wouldn't think about Dean. He'd go to swim practice and he wouldn't think about Dean. He'd go home.

And he wouldn't _ever_ think about Dean.

It was only with unrealistic expectations that he thought he'd be able to do it.

Finally reaching the senior hall, he marched to his locker and undid the lock before yanking it open.

"Ah, hey, watch where you're throwing that thing."

Yet there he was, disgusting man. His hands were held up to Cas's locker door, where he'd nearly been smacked in the face with it. If only.

Offering no response, Cas shook his head, movements jerky as he pulled out his textbooks. He knew Dean was looking at him curiously – his bad attitude was obvious – but acknowledgment was refused.

"So… I was just thinking," Dean tried to press on with his original prerogative, "You don't have a car to get home, and I could take you to get yours before-"

"Balthazar's giving me a ride," Cas interrupted coolly, frustrated at the fact that he couldn't locate a pencil. His claim wasn't verified, but it was likely true. Which was good enough.

"Alright…" Dean's eyes were narrowed. "So… what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me."

"Okay…"

"Why are you here?" Cas had yanked his locker door out of Dean's hand, slamming it closed as he finally turned to face he other man. Those green eyes were clearly confused, especially after the better parts of the morning had happened. They'd come to school like secret lovers, giddy and silly and all kinds of other things that now made Cas's blood boil.

"Uh, because I wanted to come talk to you?" Dean offered hesitantly. "I wasn't aware I needed a reason."

"We don't talk," Cas lied straight, knowing full well that he was and that Dean did too. "That's not part of the arrangement, right?" His teeth barely moved as he spoke, voice dark.

"Okay, seriously, why are you pissed?" Dean raised his hands defensively, annoyance finally dropping into his features.

And that was when Cas saw it.

On Dean's cheek, right up next to his ear, was a red smudge. Leftover from "lunch." The sight of it made Cas's eyes narrow to slits, his temple twitching as a bout of jealous rage and anger surged up through him. Dean noticed it as well – the bristling – and those eyebrows rose as he took the brunt of Cas's glare.

"You have lipstick on your cheek, Dean," he practically growled out, lips flattening into a straight line as, surprised, Dean reached up and wiped blindly. He missed the mark, but Cas didn't care. Rather, fed up with the whole thing, he turned away, intent on class as the pieces slowly came together in the mind of the man watching him go.

"Hey!" Dean called after him a second later, Cas ignoring him. A few others in the hall turned at the outburst, but moved on quickly enough. Even as Dean grabbed Cas rather harshly by the arm and turned him around.

"What?!" Cas asked as he tugged himself free of Dean's grasp. "What do you want?"

"What the hell!" Dean hissed, glancing around in abrupt paranoia to the students watching them. They couldn't talk out in the open, he knew that, and so grabbed hold of Cas's arm again before walking across the hall to the boy's room on the other side. He shoved Cas in, only one other person present at the row of sinks.

"Scram!" Dean said rather brutally to the surprised freshman, who quickly shook his hands dry and vacated. Leaning down to check that the stalls were empty, Dean was quite satisfied as he finally returned his attention to Cas, who was glaring at him again. "What the hell, man? We were fine half an hour ago!"

"Don't act stupid," Cas stated. "We both know you're not." This caused Dean's lips to purse, his hands tensing at his sides as the subject they'd been avoiding finally squeezed itself out into the open.

"I don't understand why you're so pissed," Dean replied, feeling as though he were being almost honest. Cas practically scoffed in response however, both their tempers surging. "What? What the fuck? What did I do?" Specifics. Because those were important.

"You know full well!" Cas slammed his books down on the sink counter, gesturing to Dean sharply. "You're really going to make me say it? Really?" Because he would. He was ready. He'd rip him a new one.

"Yeah, I am," Dean replied stubbornly, arms crossing over his chest.

Cas's jaw tensed. "Hardly twenty minutes after we got here Dean, twenty fucking minutes, and it was so expected that Anna didn't even have to see you to know? On your lap? Really? There's fucking lipstick on your face!" He wasn't sure how much clearer he could make it. Dean's response would be the clincher.

"Christ, seriously?" Dean's hands fell to his sides, his feet pacing back a step in exasperation. "It doesn't mean anything."

"What doesn't mean anything?" Cas snapped.

"The girl, okay? It doesn't mean anything! She came over and just did it! Happens all the time!" Cas rolled his eyes at that. "It does! You think I'm shitting you? I can't help it!"

"You can't help it? Oh fuck me, Dean, that's rich. That's an excuse."

"Excuse? Are we Maureen and Joanne now? Because I can go there if you want."

"Maureen and… What?" Cas's eyes had narrowed again. "I don't understand what that means."

Dean growled, teeth gritted in frustration. "Women have been throwing themselves at me for years, Cas! That's what I'm saying! I get hit on constantly! Every day! That's just the way it fuckin' is! What?!" Cas had actually started shaking his head halfway through the speech, a look of utter disbelief painted over his normally stoic face.

"That only happens because you let it happen!" he accused, certainty in every word. "I get you have a reputation," Dean pursed his lips, "and that everyone is aware of it. And that, because of it, you probably do get a considerable amount of attention. But it's not because you can't help it. It's because you didn't push her away when she sat down!"

"Why does it matter? Nothing fucking happened! We were in the cafeteria, Cas! It's not like I was screwing her or something! People flirt with me, that's what they fucking do! And-"

"That wasn't flirting! I don't care if you flirt! You like doing it, that's fine! But she was all over you, Dean. She was feeling you up, and that's an entirely different thing! You know it! Don't act like you don't!" They were yelling, maybe their voices carried, maybe the bell had rung so everyone was in class and it didn't make a difference. No matter the case, they were both too frustrated to care.

"I haven't done anything!" Dean continually claimed. "That's not part of the deal, remember?! You said no messing around, and that wasn't messing around. As far as I'm concerned, you're the one that's crossing the line!"

"Really?" Cas's voice had become low, dangerous, his teeth grinding behind his lips. "That's what you're going to reason?" He could feel it, the way it built inside him – the hurt and anger. "This isn't about you having sex with other people, Dean! If that's what you're basing this off of, then we're not even arguing about the same thing!"

"Then what are we arguing about?!"

Cas couldn't believe him. "You know what, fine, if that's how you're going to be. It's not my _responsibility_ to push you into it." Reaching over, he grabbed his books before walking right up to Dean, until they were nose to nose. Many things sparked between them in that moment, things that made Dean's eyes widen and Cas hate him even more. "Don't. Come near me. Again." Cas gulped after he said the words, aware of how they scorched. But he wasn't going to be that person, the one who just blindly let shit fall down around him. If Dean was that dead set on retaining his playboy attitude, then Cas wouldn't get in his way. But he also wasn't going to be involved.

It'd be different if they hadn't shared things. If they hadn't opened up to each other and made things personal. But it didn't matter if that was their original agreement, it wasn't just sex anymore. And if Dean wasn't going to face that, then Cas supposed he couldn't lead him to water.

He wasn't his fucking babysitter. He wasn't "his" anything.

Taking a deep breath, and pushing courage down through his legs, Cas stepped around Dean. He marched his way out into the empty hall and refused to look back. Dean watched him go, feet glued to the floor until Cas's footfalls had faded into nothing. Until the only sound outside his own breathing was the repetitive drip, drip of one of the faucets.

He knew he was being difficult. For both himself and Cas. But as soon as he'd dragged them both into that bathroom, there'd been a small trickle of fear that had expanded the longer they'd argued. He understood perfectly well why Cas was upset, and part of him felt guilty. Yet in the same moment, in the part connected to how afraid he was, he reasoned that Cas didn't have the right. Their "agreement" didn't stop him from flirting, or touching, other people. Just screwing them.

Yet the more he tried to use this excuse, the sicker he felt. Because what worth were words unspoken, really? No, he and Cas hadn't discussed openly the progression their "relationship" had taken. And though Dean was trying to use that as an excuse, he knew it wasn't. Especially since Cas had just tried to address the subject, albeit angrily, and he'd completely avoided it. There were so many battles struggling inside him about it – the desire to remain distant, yet wanting the very thing he and Cas had shared that morning. And then a part of him, growing stronger with every moment that passed, that grew anxious that if he didn't move fast enough, he was going to lose it all.

But if he wanted Cas, then he had to move forward. He had to realize that sex wasn't the only thing, and actually commit himself to that fact.

He'd never committed himself to anyone – not in that way – in his entire life. Never wanted to. At least until then.

But it terrified him too. All of it. It was nice when they were together, when he was so intoxicated by Cas that things just happened and he had no choice but to roll with it. Because Cas caught him when he fell and he reached out and grabbed too. But that was in the moment; when thinking and acting were the same thing. Now he had to make a decision, he had to think and then act.

There was a choice, and there was no going back. There was no just sex, or pretending like there could be. It was either all or nothing.

He didn't want nothing, yet having it all just seemed like too much.

What was he supposed to do?

Though he was mentally chained, someone walking into the bathroom did free his physical paralysis. Ignoring the surprised look he got from the other man upon seeing him standing there, Dean went to the door, lips tight and eyes down as he headed through the hall.

Which was why, as he turned a corner, he failed to see it coming.

The hand that gripped his jacket before shoving him forcefully into the lockers. It then slammed him in the chest, Dean's wide, shocked eyes spotting long, clear nails before he flicked his focus up to a pair of narrowed, critical blue eyes.

Anna. Anna Milton. Flanked by Gabriel and Balthazar.

"Stay away from him," she hissed, her nostrils flared aggressively.

"Excuse me?" Dean didn't fight with women, chivalry and all that, which left him in a state of raised hands, quite affronted at the rather physical way Anna was addressing him.

"Castiel," she continued with the obvious. "I don't know why you're playing around with him, but it needs to end. He's not the type to just sleep around, alright? He cares too much and I'm not going to watch him waste his time on someone only intent on hurting him."

"Get your hand off me," Dean growled, gaze darkening as he met her expression. For the first time, he was really beginning to see the damage his reputation could do. No one had said things like this to him before, at least not to his face. But it would appear that getting involved with someone as "good" as Cas pulled the claws out, because he'd never felt so slut-shamed in his entire life.

Anna didn't immediately do as he asked, her hand initially tightening until Balthazar murmured her name in a cautionary manner. Snapping away, she took a step back, still glaring as Dean straightened his jacket and returned the look.

"Please excuse Anna," Balthazar came up beside her, his expression cold and calculating. Gabriel had crossed his arms over his chest, looking none too approving. "She can be a tad overprotective of Castiel." As if that should excuse such behavior.

"With good reason," she hissed. "I don't know what you've been filling his head with, but he seems to think trusting you is a good idea. Which I think we both know isn't."

Yes, Dean was getting angrier. Because who did these people think they were, coming up to him and treating him like he was somehow beneath them? Like they had to protect Cas from him because he was a contaminant, or a virus. Yes, he fucking liked to have sex. And yes, he had a history of doing just that. But that didn't justify anyone slamming him into a locker because they thought that defined him.

"Fuck you, Anna," he rebuked, her blue eyes widening. "You don't know anything about me. And Cas is perfectly capable of taking care of himself." And making his own judgments. "Step off."

"Castiel isn't like you," she defended, jaw tight. "He's not the type to just sleep around, or take sex to mean nothing. You don't know what he's had to deal with and-"

"I know exactly what he's had to deal with," Dean interrupted, ready to fire back. "It isn't exactly a secret after all, your parents." Anna snarled. "And even if it was, I'd know anyway. Because I've been over to his house enough times to know things even you don't." Both she and Gabriel narrowed their eyes further, alarm flashing over their expressions for just a second. "Oh, and as far as Cas being opposed to casual sex? He's the one who came onto me in the first place, so I think you can get down off your soapbox. Because let me tell you, he wasn't inexperienced."

Yeah, he made a rather crude gesture with his fist near his mouth.

"You're a pig," Anna looked about to go at him again, but Balthazar grabbed her arm before she could.

"And you're a prude," Dean rebuked harshly, tired of being berated for choices he'd never felt ashamed of before. "Maybe you're happy being frigid, but some of us like to actually _enjoy_ our bodies. And your brother is one of them."

"You don't know anything about him!" They were nose to nose, Balthazar holding Anna tighter.

"And you're a little Christian good-girl too ashamed of your parents to make your own choices!"

"Go to hell, Dean Winchester!"

"Hey!" Charlie's voice echoed down the hall, both she and Benny abruptly sprinting to interject on what was clearly an argument ready to get out of control. "What's going on here?!" She and Benny took up positions near Dean, the other three looking between them with varying degrees of hostility.

"Just a few rich-kid assholes getting in over their heads!" Dean was tired of it. First Cas, then this. Screw them. Screw them all! They didn't – at least these three – know a goddamn thing.

"Watch it, Dean," Gabriel finally interjected, his voice deep. A tone he very rarely adopted, but that he could when necessary.

"_You_ watch it. You're the ones who started it."

"I'm trying to watch out for my brother!" Anna.

"Let's all try and calm down, alright?" Benny's soothingly deep voice was unaffected by the tiff, even as Charlie bristled in automatic defense of Dean.

"You're a bad influence!" Anna continued, blue still locked with green.

"And you're a sheltered little princess who thinks she's better than everyone else even though you're not! Be as righteous as you want, it doesn't change the fact that the only reason you've got money at all is because Cas's dad slept with the maid!"

"Dean!" Both Benny and Charlie.

Anna paled. "You're an asshole!"

"And you're a bitch!"

What happened next popped the cap. Because Anna reached out and slapped him. Hard. The sound of her hand smacking his cheek echoed down the hall, seeming louder than any of the hissed words between them.

Hand going to his swelling face in shock, Dean had just enough time to get furious before Charlie was on her. Hand pulled back, she jumped to his defense, red hair tossing as her knuckles collided with the side of Anna's face.

Blasted back, Balthazar was clearly recovering from his own bout of surprise, Anna's arm slipping from his grasp as she stumbled back. Fists raised, lips tight, Charlie was ready, the back of Anna's hand going to her nose as blood dribbled down her face. Her blue eyes flicked up to Charlie a moment later, any pain she might have felt overcome by fury.

Straightening, she lunged at Charlie, almost reaching her before Benny got between.

"Stop!" he'd grabbed Anna by the wrists, holding her back easily as his broad chest protected Charlie from any onslaught. "That's enough!"

"Don't!" Gabriel finally got up in it, taking Benny by the arm and holding him tight. "Let her go!"

"Get ahold of yourself!" Benny reached out instinctively, shoving Gabriel back even as his eyes remained locked on Anna. This caused Gabriel to stumble slightly, only heightening the heat between them all further.

"You tell that to _him_!" she hissed, her gaze dropping back to Dean, whose cheek was red beside his scowling lips.

"Go fuck yourself!" he growled out. "Since you clearly won't let anyone else!"

"You're a whore!" she screeched.

Dean let out an intelligible growl.

"What is going on out here?" One of the teachers had finally stepped out of the class, probably upon hearing the tussle. He surveyed the group quickly, eyes going first to Anna's bloody nose and then to the way Benny was holding her. Realizing how it likely looked, Benny dropped her, but it was too late. The damage was done. "You. Did you hit her?"

"No," Benny shook his head, everyone in the group's temper quickly sobering at the intervention. "I wasn't…"

"I hit her," Charlie stepped forward, raising her hand diplomatically. Her expression was straight, Dean gaping at how easily she just handed herself over. But if someone didn't fess up, they'd all go down.

"Principle's office, now. The both of you," he was looking between Anna and Charlie. "Unless there's reason for any of the rest of you to go?" They didn't say anything, Dean feeling guilty and that he should be taking the rap. Yet it'd be ten times worse if he was to take the blame for hitting Anna. It'd be different had it been Gabriel or Balthazar that had been smacked, but not a woman. Not in Texas.

"There isn't," Anna clarified, sniffing against her injured nose. "It was just the two of us." The teacher didn't look totally convinced, but didn't say anything further either. Rather, closing the door to his class, he came forward, gesturing the two women down the hall. Dean reached out to Charlie, but she merely shook her head – warning him not to say anything.

It'd only make it worse.

It wasn't until the teacher and the girls had vanished that the other four looked back to one another.

"Great," Gabriel uttered bitterly.

"Oh don't even," Dean hissed. "She hit me first, for one, and two, you know full well she's going to get off scot free. It wouldn't have mattered if Charlie was the one bleeding." Gabriel pursed his lips. "So don't act like some kind of victim. Everyone knows who Anna Milton is, and that Charlie is just a pothead without any self-control." Others' assumptions, not his.

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a dick," Gabriel fought back.

"Right," Dean's face tightened against the animosity. "Because I'm the one who got assaulted walking around the fucking corner." He shook his head, Benny blinking in confusion.

"Anna told us what Castiel saw you doing," Balthazar added coldly.

"What I was 'doing?'" Dean scoffed. "First off, none of your business. Second, Cas and I already dealt with it, so why don't you all take your heads out of your asses and leave me the fuck alone."

This seemed to surprise the other two, Benny looking to him with furrowed brows. "Something happen between you and Cas?" he asked straight.

"Yeah," Dean's gaze didn't leave Balthazar and Gabriel. "We broke up." What there had been to break. "But I'm sure that's what all of you wanted, right? Because all I am is a player. A whore." He shrugged in a sharp manner. Benny was visibly surprised, but he didn't get the chance to question. Because Dean had turned away and headed down the hall. To the door, which he pushed open with more gusto than necessary before vanishing.

Yet he could feel their words, and all their bullshit, following behind. A cloud he couldn't escape.

**oOo**

"What happened to you?" Cas asked in alarm, rising from his desk chair as Anna and Gabriel walked in through his bedroom door. Balthazar had told him, following swim practice, that something had happened, but hadn't elaborated any further. Upon seeing the bruised skin and red mark over Anna's nose however, he abruptly wished he'd been more persistent on the subject.

"You didn't tell him?" Gabriel was looking to Balthazar.

"Like I was going to deal with that on my own," was the snide response given, Cas's eyebrows furrowing at their odd implications.

"I got into a fight," Anna explained bitterly, sitting down on the edge of Cas's bed.

"A fight?" Cas asked. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I wasn't punished," Anna wiped at her nose as if it bothered her. "Charlie Bradbury was though. She's been suspended for two weeks." She sounded neither pleased nor downed by this.

"Charlie Bradbury?" Cas questioned almost stupidly.

"Yeah, she punched Anna right in the nose," Gabriel explained, leaning back against Cas's desk. "But that was after," he gestured to Anna, "she'd slapped Dean Winchester across the face."

This caused Cas's eyes to widen, his focus falling heavily on his half-sister. "You slapped Dean? Why?"

"Because he was being a jerk," she replied, sounding rather pouty.

"You weren't exactly an angel yourself," Gabriel made clear, Anna glaring at him.

"Why did you slap him?" Cas had the feeling he wasn't going to like where this was going, irritation already rubbing up through him.

"He was saying… unseemly things," Anna stated, sounding rather guarded, which didn't bode well with Cas. He knew Anna well enough to figure when she was hiding something.

"Neither one of them were saying very nice things," Balthazar made clear.

"What was said?" Cas clipped.

"Anna wanted to confront him about what you two saw in the cafeteria," Gabriel tried to start, but was interrupted.

"I already spoke to him."

"Well, that's what she wanted to do, and she did, and Dean was already looking pretty pissed before that, and then things just," Gabriel spun his finger in a circle, "got out of control."

"Are you going to tell me what was said or not?" Cas snapped, losing his patience.

"I called him out," Anna shrugged. "We all know how he is, and I told him he should stay away from you." She was determined she'd been right, only moderately affected by the wide, disbelieving eyes her brother gave her. "He didn't appreciate it."

"That's the PG version," Gabriel sighed. "I believe it was implied that Dean was no good, and then he fired back that Anna was a know-it-all rich princess, and then she called him an asshole, and he called her a bitch. And then she slapped him." Cas was gaping, unable to even believe he was hearing this. "Which is when Charlie punched her. And then Dean said she needed to go fuck herself, and she called him a whore, which seemed to bother him more than anything else." Gabriel shrugged, as if not knowing why.

"And then we were caught," Balthazar finished. "And Dean stomped off. Before he left though, he said you broke up?" He implied that he was asking for verification, the other two looking similar (because Gabriel had filled Anna in on the ride over). But Cas was hardly focused on that, his narrowed blue eyes directed at his sister.

When he finally found words, they weren't what any of them expected. "What the hell, Anna?" he spat, gulping back the angry shock threatening to disable him. "Why would you do that?"

"Excuse me?" she was clearly surprised at his reaction. "I was just trying to protect you. And seeing as you two 'broke up' over what he did, I figured you'd be on the same page as me."

"You don't know anything!" Cas snapped, Anna's eyes widening. "Goddammit Anna, this isn't any of your business!" He didn't mean to raise his voice so, but he couldn't believe she'd actually done this. Such interference didn't make anything between him and Dean any easier. He was dealing with it.

"He was the one that was wrong!" Anna rebuked, still recovering from the fact that Castiel was actually angry with her. "He deserved to be slapped after what he was doing! You obviously liked him and he was a jerk!"

"Anna, you don't…" Cas reached up and caressed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "It doesn't matter whether I liked him or not, it's none of your business! If I'd wanted you involved, I would have said so."

"He was using you!" Anna stood then, both angry and confused by the reaction she was getting. "It was just sex for him! Don't you get that?!"

"Anna!" Cas gestured to her rather sharply. "I agreed to it!" Despite Dean having said as much, and the general implication that such a thing had been, Anna hadn't believed it. Hadn't wanted to. "We met at that party and hooked up, and then started having casual sex! I'm fully aware of the situation!" She didn't seem to know what to say to that, big eyes blinking. "I was using him too!"

Which was true. He'd liked the attention, and the way Dean had come to him, and for him, over and over again. He hadn't anticipated that he'd actually form feelings for Dean until it'd happened. And so quickly. But that was hardly the point.

"And maybe there was more to it than that, but it wasn't any of your business to deal with it! I had it under control!" He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Yes, he and Dean were having problems, but that didn't mean he needed someone to slide in and muck it all up further.

"Why would you get involved with him like that?" Anna gaped, the other two listening in silence. "Castiel, he's the exact kind of person we've always said we didn't want anything to do with! And casual sex? Really? Why would you…?" She wasn't hurt yet. She was too shocked to be hurt.

"Anna…" Well, better late than never. "Dean isn't the first person I've hooked up with." Gabriel and Balthazar looked between each other, eyebrows raised. Because Cas had always been the quiet, saintly one of their group. Too good for the casual with his high standards and typical attitude toward not showing up at seedy parties but rarely.

"You… you sleep around?" Anna couldn't even fathom it.

"I wouldn't say that," Cas's hands fell to his sides. "But I'm not a virgin." At all. Not even close.

"But you…"

"I didn't tell you because I knew what you'd think," he said straight, unashamed. He knew it was a sensitive subject for her – it was for him too – but he'd long since refused to let his parent's actions dictate his own. Anna, he knew, had come to a similar conclusion, but she'd decided to act on it differently than he had.

"What I'd think?" she shook her head. "Castiel, I'm here because our father slept around! What do you think I'd think?! Our whole family," both sides, "is destroyed because he can't control himself! I thought we had better standards than that!"

"I do," Cas said simply.

"What? Because you're gay and you're not going to knock anyone up?! That makes it somehow okay?!"

"No!" he ignored what her words implied, and the hurt they inflicted. "Our father isn't the despicable human being he is because he slept around. It's because he was married and irresponsible. It wasn't the action, is was the intent!"

"There isn't a difference!"

"I've spent my whole life being ashamed, Anna!" His voice rose some, unconsciously thankful neither of his parents were home. "Ashamed of them; ashamed of what he did! Ashamed of who I am – something you'll never understand! I'm tired of letting that shame rule my life!"

"So that's a reason to disrespect yourself? To become like-"

"Disrespect is a self-inflicted idea!" He was so fed up with this. "The only way I can disrespect myself is by doing something I think is disgraceful, or that I don't want to do! Anna, it's my body! And I won't let the mistakes that someone else made dictate what I do with it! I like Dean, I do. I _like_ having sex with him!" Gabriel hid his immature grin behind the back of his hand. "And there's nothing wrong with that!"

"It's supposed to _mean_ something Castiel! It's supposed to matter!"

"It does matter! It matters because I refuse to feel guilty about my own body –because of something my father did! I'm not going to live my life under the hypocritical umbrella of expectations they created! I won't! And it's not fair for you to judge anyone else!"

"Are you _defending_ how Dean acts?!"

"For all of Dean's exploits, have you ever heard about something bad coming of it? Women don't hate him. He's never knocked anyone up. He doesn't have any STD's!" Because they'd texted about that one. "It isn't the sex that's bad, it's the lack of respect for others and the irresponsibility, the ignorance, that people possess that creates the bad situation! There's nothing wrong with sex, and liking it!" So long as it was dealt with responsibly, an understanding Dean, obviously, had. "I understand if it's something you don't want to partake in, or if you have different emotional expectations, but don't shame someone else just because they're different from you!"

"I was only trying to look out for you, Castiel!"

"By sinking to the lows of slut-shaming!" he countered. "You called him a _whore_!"

To which she had no response. Because there was no refuting that fact. When she'd said it, she'd been angry, and she hadn't understood the technicalities of what was going on between her brother and Dean. Yes, she'd been aware there'd been something, but she hadn't known that Castiel had been involved to the point of "casual." She'd thought he liked Dean, and that Dean had been stringing him along. Yet there she stood, Castiel the one angry at what she'd done.

"You went too far," he said quietly, face stone as she failed to find a response. "I'm not a child, or defenseless. I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me. So next time, stay out of it."

They stared at each other a moment longer, the conversation slowly sinking in before Cas was spurred by the need for damage control. He tore his eyes from Anna and headed to his door, grabbing his car keys on his way out.

Yes, he and Dean were fighting, or "broken up," or whatever. But what Anna had done had only made it a hundred times worse. Not only that, but it was completely and totally uncalled for. Which was Cas's main issue. It didn't matter what had happened between him and Dean, Anna's behavior wasn't okay.

Tapping down the steps in front of his house, he went straight for his car. Slamming his way into the driver's side seat, he was soon headed swiftly down the long drive. Maybe it'd be easier to text, or to call even, but he wanted Dean to know that he didn't support what Anna had done. Wanted to be positive he knew that. Yes, he was mad about what had happened in the cafeteria, but he didn't share in the sentiments expressed by his sister.

Bobby's shop wasn't that far. The kind of place that fell well enough into the main strip of town. Not a corporate business, but respected nonetheless. Nearer the south end, but not actually in it. The trip passed by quickly, mostly because Cas was still so irritated with Anna. He supposed he understood why she'd acted the way she had, but only so far. Because there was a line cut through between justifiable and decorum. As far as he was concerned, she'd walked right over it.

He couldn't just let that sit.

Pulling into the drive, he parked his car near the door, dust from the dirt drive wafting up in a cloud behind him. Climbing out, he ignored the nerves that wanted to overtake him, far more concerned with the situation than any anxiety. Pushing his way in, he looked quickly to the counter, where Benny was standing and had looked up upon him entering.

"Cas," he said, clearly surprised.

"Hello," was the cold response he quickly gave before moving on. "Is Dean here?"

"Yeah, he's out in the shop," Benny replied vaguely. "Why?"

"I'm sure you know why. Can you please tell him I'd like to speak to him?" Benny didn't look totally sold on the idea, his stoic expression tightening slightly. "Please."

"I'll tell him you're here," he decided. "Can't guarantee he'll wanna talk to ya though." Which Cas knew perfectly well. He didn't offer a response, Benny setting down the paperwork he'd been working on before heading out the back door. The few minutes he had to wait were far longer than he would have liked, but eventually someone in the required blue coveralls headed back into the lobby.

It was Dean, Cas releasing a silent sigh of relief. Even if displeasure was what was painted across those pretty features.

"What do you want, Cas?" he asked as he approached the counter, voice low and tired. Cas tried to find evidence of Anna's attack on his face, but the damage must have already faded. "You made it pretty clear that you didn't want anything to do with me."

"I know what I said," he replied, voice as gravelly as ever. "I'm not here about that. I'm here about Anna." This drew up Dean's irritation, his tongue clicking as his focus flicked down to the counter.

"She came at me first," he defended quickly. "I wasn't even-"

"I know," Cas stopped him in his tracks. "I'm not here to defend her." This seemed to surprise Dean, those green eyes coming back up. "Gabriel told me what you said, and what she said. I don't blame you for any of it. She was out of line, and I told her that." Dean was blinking, apparently having been under the impression that he'd be even further in the doghouse. "We have our own issues, but your past sexual exploits isn't one of them. She had no right to refer to you as she did. And I just… wanted you to know that."

"Don't lie," Dean countered bitterly. "You have just as much a problem with it as she does. You made that pretty clear earlier."

"That's not the same thing and you know it," Cas said, trying to stop himself from getting sharp. "It doesn't matter to me how many people you've slept with, and I don't think any more or less of you for it. What we fought about and what Anna implied are completely different things."

"If what she said is true, then you shouldn't be surprised, right?"

"Stop it, Dean. You're being childish. I don't think you're a whore."

Those full lips pursed, Dean looking back down at the counter again. "I guess I don't understand what you think of me then."

"You're only saying that because you don't want to talk about the real issue between us, which isn't what I'm here to talk about either. Anna was wrong, and if I could, I'd apologize for her. But I can't. And I just wanted you to know that I don't agree with her. And that I did defend you to her. Which… means she probably won't want much to do with me for a while." But he believed in what he'd said, so she'd just have to deal.

"What am I supposed to do, give you a medal?"

"Don't be nasty."

"I'll be 'nasty' if I want to be. Everyone seems to think I'm an asshole anyway, so what the fuck? Might as well be."

Cas closed his eyes, warning himself to be patient – even if Dean was throwing himself a giant pity party.

"You're not an asshole."

"Then what am I? Because you seem to think I'm something. Tell me then, or leave." He turned his head away, arms crossing over his chest. Cas really was starting to get annoyed however. It was like pulling teeth.

"Why can't we talk about this like adults?" he asked after a moment. "You know what I think of you, you just don't want to face it. I get it, Dean." Another pause. "I'm scared too."

Dean scoffed, but didn't seem to be able to find anything to say. He wouldn't even meet Cas's gaze, a slight redness flushing his cheeks. And neck. And probably the rest of him too, or so Cas figured.

"You know what I want," he continued. "And if you can't give me that, then that's fine. I'm not going to push you into something you're not ready for. But…" His stare fell to the dirty counter. "I'm also not going to put myself in a position to be hurt. I'm sorry I can't make this what you want it to be. I wasn't expecting it to end up like this any better than you were." The feelings. And so, so quickly. Like plummeting over the edge of a cliff. "And I know we had a deal, but I can't go through with it anymore. I'll still be your friend, and I'll still help you, but I refuse to become my mother."

"Are you comparing me to your father?" Dean asked, sounding honestly hurt.

"No," Cas shook his head. "You're nothing like him." He glanced up, Dean's attention focused on him again. "But that doesn't mean I can't become like her. I'm not trying to control you, or tell you how to live your life. You know my parent's history, which maybe explains why I got so upset earlier. And you know as well as I do that even if I did keep this up, it wouldn't be fair. To either of us.

"Anna always says I care too much. Maybe that is my problem."

"That's not a problem," Dean muttered, too paralyzed to say much more on the subject – to say that it was one of the best things about him, and that he'd never met someone with so much compassion before. So much understanding, and lack of judgment. It was too much to admit that. To heavy.

"It's your decision," Cas shrugged lightly. "I'm willing to try, but you have to be too. And if it's too much, then that's fine. I get it." He always "got it," or so Dean told himself. That was almost the worst part. That even though he'd been mad before, or that Dean had said those horrible things to him earlier in the morning, he was over it. He'd forgiven; he was going to forget. No matter what Dean said, that was the course he'd take.

Who the hell had died and made him such a fucking saint in the first place?

"Don't put yourself in a position you don't want to be in, okay? It was fun," Cas smiled faintly, those slightly drooped blue eyes crinkling. "While it lasted."

"Yeah…" Dean felt like he was being suffocated. Like the air was being sucked out of him, leaving him lightheaded and dry.

"So…" Cas was giving him the chance to do something – to seize it all. But his hand was heavy, and he just… couldn't. "I'll see you later, okay?" Gulping, Dean nodded a little, unable to meet that sympathetic gaze. He knew when Cas was reaching over the counter for him, and felt when that hand delicately took hold of his chin. He felt those lips on his cheek, and wanted to turn into them, but it was too hard.

And then that touch was cold, and he could hear Cas's footfalls heading toward the door. He managed to pull his eyes up just in time to watch him push his way out. Something inside him fought and tore, was heaving up his throat, but it couldn't get out. Instead, he stood. He did nothing. And then Cas was gone.

He was alone.

"You're really just going to let him go?" Benny's soft voice echoed from the door, Dean refusing to face him. "After everything he just said to you, and you're not going to go after him?"

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked softly, bitterly.

"That's your flavor, Dean," his friend lectured firmly. "That's the one you don't let go. Someone like that don't come along very often, not saying stuff like that. It's luck if you get a taste like that. Some of us never will."

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to learn this lesson.

"Just leave me alone, alright?" he muttered, marching his way past his friend and back into the garage. "I don't want to talk about it."

He didn't even want to think about it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Leave **Reviews** please. You guys are so thoughtful and really keep me motivated! Especially with a fic as long as this one. Need that inspiration!

Follow me on tumblr – DemonDogDean

I think my favorite part was when Dean told Cas he was obsessed with him /waggly eyebrows.

Aw, they broke up though /sad. And poor Dean, and poor Cas, and poor Anna (also, frickin' Anna!). And poor Charlie, lol. Everything has its ups and downs though. I liked the beginning – John comes in and figuratively destroys Dean's masculinity, but it's okay because then Cas gives it back, awww. Yes, I do believe in position switching. If you don't like it, well, open your mind a little bit, lol. Oh goodness, but then all the fighting. Cas was so sweet at the end though. I love Cas.

Thanks go to HamburgerLover25 for beta-ing the chapter. If there's any mistakes, it's probably because of my edits afterward and not because they missed something /shame. Lol.


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